


Above the Rain and Roses

by coveryourheads (rsk110), Kellyscams



Series: Above the Rain and Roses Universe [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BDSM, Bondage, Caning, Consensual Kink, Dom Steve Rogers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Gags, Heartache, Heavy BDSM, Hopeful Ending, Impact Play, Love at First Sight, M/M, One Night Stands, Porn with Feelings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Public Sex, Sex Club, Sex Work, Situational Humiliation, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, bdsm fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsk110/pseuds/coveryourheads, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: Steve Rogers has been looking forThe Oneever since testing as Dominant. True love. Fairytales. Happily ever after with his very own submissive is all he wants. Which might be asking the universe for a little too much, but he'll take a good connection to start with.But tonight, Steve is visiting The Armory. An exclusive club where unattached Doms can go and enjoy themselves with a good sub for the night. Not exactly the place Steve expects to find his one true love.Then again, fate might have other plans, and one sub might get in way over his head making assumptions about this Dom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for this year's Cap RBB. Thank you so much to [coveryourheads](http://http://coveryourheads.tumblr.com/). for such a wonderful piece of art for inspiration, all your patience and encouragement through this whole thing, and the mods for putting together such a great collection!

The invitation on the antique pine wood vanity is beautiful. Expensive black parchment with gorgeous calligraphy written in gold ink. Even the room pales in comparison and the room is stunning. Nicer than any place Steve’s ever been to. 

Walnut walls and polished hardwood floors covered in a beautiful rolled out rug right in the center. A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, throwing soft prisms of light that pirouette across the whole room. Thick curtains are drawn over the arched windows -- Steve double checked to make sure they were pulled closed when he first entered the room, though, at this time of night and on this floor of The Armory, it’s unlikely anyone out on the darkened side streets of Brooklyn would be able to see him anyway. 

There’s a four poster bed in the middle of the room and wardrobe pushed up against the wall. The whole thing, Steve suspects, is supposed to be reminiscent of an older time. A classic period. The Victorian Era mixed with today’s modern fashion, maybe. There’s even a dress code and everything. All part of the illusion. 

Steve’s dressed in a very expensive tuxedo that he didn’t pay for. Rented. From Van Dyne’s shop, too, so it’s a designer fitted just for him. He can’t lie, he’s feeling pretty dang dapper in the thing. 

White shirt with a piqued winged collar. Herringbone pattern on the black vest. The thin black tie compliments the whole get-up. He’s even got himself a dark blue pocket square. The only time Steve’s ever had this nice of a suit on is when he was a groomsman at Tony and Pepper’s wedding. 

As a beat cop, Steve doesn’t exactly get many reasons to dress up. He’s more of a t-shirt and jeans type of guy. Still, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel nice to get all spiffed up every now and then. 

And Steve hasn’t put on the mask yet. 

It’s the mask that makes the whole costume exquisite. Silver and antiqued and encrusted with diamonds. Fake, of course, but they glitter like stars even in the dimmest of light. It’s ornately shaped with delicate curves and twists of silver. It’s designed to fit over the top half of his face. To hide it from the other guests at this thing.

Steve’s hand shakes as he reaches for the mask to put it on and add the final touch to his outfit. He fumbles with it a little. Needs to fiddle with it to get it to sit right on his face, but once he does, he takes a step back to get a good look at himself in the mirror. 

For about one second Steve feels good. Sees a man looking back at him in the glass that knows exactly what he's doing. Exactly one second later, that man in the glass is laughing, wondering if maybe he’s been lured into a trap for some strange, ritualistic sacrifice, and Steve leans over the vanity shaking his head at himself.

“Oh, man, Rogers, what’re you _doin’_ here?”

There’s nothing really _wrong_ with being here, Steve supposes. Lots of people come to parties at The Armory. Despite the illusion of exclusivity, it isn’t exactly difficult to procure an invite. All it really takes in a paying the entrance fee. A somewhat considerable fee, but not one that limits access to only the world’s rich and famous.

A lot of couples attend, but so do plenty of unattached Dominants. Which is why Steve’s here. 

Ever since taking his orientation test his senior year of high school and testing as Dominant, Steve’s been on the look out for _The One_. Not someone to boss around. Not someone to be some cruel, abusive dictator to as others use a submissive’s gifts for. Steve’s not interested in that. 

He’s what his mother used to call a True Believer. A real romantic, his best friend, Sam, calls him. Wants the full package. Someone to love and cherish and spoil and dote on. Wrap up in a big fluffy blanket to feed chocolates to after a candlelit dinner. And of course, maybe more importantly, maybe not, Steve’s not sure, someone who needs their own desires met. For Steve to be that someone who they trust enough to give up control to. 

People’d been surprised by his results. Well, people who didn’t know him already. 

All they saw was the skinny, shrimp of a kid he used to be. Not the one who had started putting on weight and height or who he was inside. The one who had a biological and psychological need to take care of someone, and a physical desire to remain as in control of any situation he can as possible. 

Steve’s loved ones -- his closest friends and family members -- hadn’t been all that surprised to learned he’d tested as Dominant. 

Ever since he was young, Steve hated feeling out of control. Hated that sensation of chaos that whirled through his mind. He’d always felt like he was falling. Wind just billowing around him as he desperately attempted to grasp onto anything that would help slow him down. 

So for Steve, testing Dominant has always felt right. Finding his perfect submissive, then, is right, too. 

In theory. 

Thing is, Steve hasn’t _met_ the right submissive. Not for him, anyway. People don’t test as submissive as often as they do Dominant. Most people, actually, test as switch or simply standard. Given submissives are somewhat on the rarer side, it probably shouldn’t surprise Steve all the much that he hasn’t met anyone to be his. 

Throw on the fact that right after graduating from high school Steve joined the army -- where he did two tours overseas -- and then joined the force right after his honorable discharge, he’s been more submerged in work than in his social life. He hasn’t exactly had time to be working on his great search for The One. If he can even call it that. 

It’s not that he’s inexperienced, not by any means actually. Between orientation classes and lessons, demonstrations and practicing, Steve _knows_ what he’s doing. He knows what he wants. Both physically and mentally. He’s had his share of relationships -- some serious, some not. It’s just that something’s been lacking. 

The problem is, absent of biology, Steve just doesn’t know _what_. 

A knock at the door and the shout of his name startles Steve enough that he actually rips the mask off of his face as though worried he’s gonna be caught doing something wrong. 

“Hey, Steve!” Oh. It’s just Tony. “What’dya doin’ in there? Makin’ your tux?”

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes -- and, admittedly, a laugh in the back of his throat -- Steve takes one more glance at himself in the mirror, figures there’s not much more he can do to himself, and, mask in hand, heads for the door. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin,” Steve says as he pulls the door open to find Tony _right_ on the other side. “You’re so impatient.” 

Crooked grin on his face, Tony shrugs a shoulder. Steve can see the agreement he doesn’t come out and say. And the almost proud expression that accompanies it. Steve chuckles. 

Then he takes a good look at Tony, and Steve’s breath catches, his heart taking one beat of surprise. 

Not all that unusual, Tony looks phenomenal. Completely outlandish, but phenomenal. His tux maroon. Gold tie. Thick, black-rimmed glasses with orange lenses that aren’t prescription. None of this is what surprises Steve. He’s known Tony Stark long enough to expect all this.

It’s the collar. 

The collar around Tony’s neck.

Steve knows that Tony’s submissive. Hell, he’s one of the most popular subs and outspoken activists in matters of submissives’ rights. So Steve's seen Tony wearing his collar before. Plenty of them, actually--all Permanent in recent years. 

It’s just that he’s never seen Tony, in person, wearing _this_ collar. A beautiful collar, but that shouldn’t be surprising. Titanium and silver that circles around his neck and meets into an O-ring right in front of his throat. A silver chain dangles from the center ring to the back on either side. There’s a diamond hanging from the ring -- very possibly a real one. 

“What?”

Steve shakes his head when Tony’s voice pulls him back into the moment. 

“Huh?”

Tony barks a laugh. “Can’t stand my good looks, right? You’re just so overcome by my natural beauty.” 

Before Steve can even roll his eyes, Tony’s nudging him in the ribs with his elbow. Maybe Steve isn’t _as_ quick witted as Tony, but he can be just as big of a smart ass. He _would_ say something back. He’s even got a response all set. Steve just never gets the chance to let it come out of his mouth. 

“Uh, Tony.” Tony immediately shrinks into his shoulders at the sound of that voice. “Do you have _permission_ to talk to another Dom?”

Slowly turning around, Tony keeps his chin down and shakes his head as his own Dominant crosses the hall towards them.

“No, Sir.”

“Yeah.” Rhodey tsks twice. “I didn’t think so.” He slips his hand under Tony’s chin and lifts it. Smiles at his sub and gets a cheeky smirk in return. “What’m I gonna do with you, Tone?” 

“Hopefully something fun, Sir.” 

Smirking, Rhodey tilts Tony’s back slightly and presses a light kiss to his lips. He then taps a finger over the top of Tony’s glasses.

“Is _this_ your mask for the night?” he asks. “Since when do _you_ even want to wear one?”

The mask, Steve knows, isn’t strictly a necessary part of the dress code. Only for the professional subs here to serve for the night. 

Tony shrugs.

“Why not?” Tony flashes a grin. “And it covers my face, right?”

Rhodey scoffs with a roll of his eyes and then turns his attention to Steve. Smiles and holds his hand out. 

“It’s about time you came to one of these,” he says. “Good to see you, Steve.”

“Rhodey, you too,” Steve answers and takes a quick glance around. “No Pepper tonight?”

Tony and Rhodey’s wife and Tony’s other Dominant. A switch. President of Stark Industries and, like Tony, a vocal activists for submissive rights. The three of them share a beautiful relationship. A good balance for them all. They had three wedding ceremonies. Of course they did because Tony does nothing small and they all wanted to be married to each other. It was Tony’s collaring ceremony that they shared together. All three of them celebrating their love and orientations and relationship as one. 

Rhodey shakes his head. “Nah, you know Pepper. She prefers privacy and intimacy.”

She’s more of a Gentle Dom as Steve understands. Not that she doesn’t know how to give a good thrashing as Steve _also_ knows -- _thank you very much, Tony_. 

“I hope you saved room for dinner, Steve,” Rhodey says, patting his belly. “The food here is _phenomenal._ ”

“Speaking of which.” Tony tugs on the sleeve of Rhodey’s tux. “Let’s get the show on the road,” he says, and adds, “Sir,” when Rhodey eyebrows go up.

“Uh-ha.” Rhodey flicks his fingers. “Chin.”

At first, Steve’s completely lost. He’s got no idea why Rhodey would just randomly say chin after moving his fingers until he sees Tony pick his chin up and realizes that he just gave his sub an order. A simple, pre-established command that Tony followed in seconds. 

That’s what Steve wants. The sort of relationship he hopes to plant and nurture with someone one day. Beautiful vines that grew from seeds of trust and love and enough companionship that one gesture and one word is enough for communication. 

Okay, maybe that one’s basic. It’s not exactly complicated to figure out that when someone flicks their fingers and says _chin_ that there’s a pretty good chance they want someone to tilt their chin up. But Steve knows it starts like that. Steve knows that when Tony exposes his throat as he does to Rhodey now, he does so without fear. That even if Rhodey or Pepper or both held a blade to it he’d be safe. They’d count his life even more important than their own. 

There is no blade now, and Steve doubts there ever would be. Instead, Rhodey is attaching a leash to Tony’s collar. 

“Well,” Rhodey says as he slips his mask over his face. Venetian style in antique black and decorated in sparkling silver. “Should we get going?”

Funny, Steve really thought the mask thing was a little silly. A Clark Kent sort of deal. Would this thing really keep someone from knowing who he was if they saw him? But now that he sees Rhodey’s on him, he’s rethinking that. Even if it only covers half of his face, it does do a good job. 

So, with a flip to his stomach, Steve puts his own mask back on and walks with Tony and Rhodey -- Tony on his leash and a few paces slower -- away from the private suites and towards the Grand Hall of the Upper Floor of the Armory. 

That anxiety never really leaves as they go through the halls, making small talk as they do. Even Tony, once he receives permission from Rhodey to speak -- to Steve as well. A few other people walk by, all of them politely saying hello, which does ease some of the knots out of Steve’s stomach. His imaginary fear that he’s going to be sacrificed gets a little less, too.

When he sees the entrance to the Grand Hall, Steve isn’t really sure he can do this. 

The doors to the room are at least eight feet tall. Made from thick, dark walnut with gold fixtures, there’re ornate drawings carved into them. Even as they approach, Steve can make some of them out. Beautiful scenes of Dominance and submission. The gift of both. Giving and receiving. 

He’d like to take a closer look sometime. He can’t right now, since the second they’re close enough, the two masked men stationed right outside the doors nod their heads in greeting and pull them open. 

Steve comes to an abrupt halt upon the platform of a marble staircase that leads down to the Grand Hall. His eyes go wide. A gasp falls from his lips. Really, Steve’s not entirely sure what he expected, but it isn’t this. There’s no giant orgy going on, no human sacrifices, no one leading a cult. 

This is just… people. Just finely dressed people -- some of them wearing beautiful masks, some of them not -- mixed together in a social gathering. A party. A masquerade ball if one would be so inclined to use the humor. 

Seeing how many people there are, Steve understands the optional mask in the dress code. The place is enormous. The outside really doesn’t serve as a good scale for the inside and there are just people _everywhere_. 

They could be anyone from anywhere. Celebrities, politicians, the dry cleaner down the street. Sure, every bit of this is perfectly legal, but any one of these people might prefer a sense of anonymity. Better for business to devise a way to draw in more customers by allowing that if it’s preferred. 

It also adds to the ambiance of the whole thing. A certain… air of underground mystery from the Victorian Era. 

The place is beautiful, too, Steve has to admit that. Bright, even if there’s no sunlight pouring in through the huge, arched windows. Shoes echo across the marble floors, glossy and polished. Chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceilings, bright with teardrop diamonds raining from round, golden tiers. The furniture -- leather sofas and armchairs, small end tables and coffee tables, smaller seats and sectional couches -- are a mix of modern and classic. 

On the walls, in gold plated antiqued frames, are portraits. Paintings, not of people or landscapes or bowls of fruits, but of very promiscuous acts -- some of them quite descriptive. Not that any of them are vulgar. The opposite in fact, and they’re quite fascinating. 

There’s a four piece orchestra in one corner of the room -- their music just a bit softer than the chatter going on. 

None of that is as as fascinating as the scene unfolding in front of Steve though, as he makes his way down the staircase with Rhodey and Tony. 

Couples who have come together -- some with masks, some without -- are stirring about the place. Either meeting with friends or meeting new people -- strangers mingling for the first time. Single, unclaimed subs are there, too, Steve’s sure. To have fun with other sub friends or Dom friends or to make friends or even to meet someone special. 

A sea of soft chatter floats throughout the room. The air is a buzz of excitement. Charged with the electric delight of dark, wild fantasies coming true. 

Some of the subs not working there are wearing steel bracelets around their wrists. Registered subs, then. It’s the only real way to tell that someone is a submissive. The registration isn’t fully necessary any longer, but those subs that do register get certain benefits from doing so. Protection from job discrimination and other legal securities. 

Those locked bracelets, though, are the only way for Steve to know that those certain people are submissives. Someone without one can be for all he knows, but it’d be rude, even bordering on offensive, if he made such an assumption. He has no idea of telling where someone falls on the submissive spectrum, anyway, without talking to them first. From being limited only to subbing in a scene context up to being a sub in a constant lifestyle and being very controlled, and everyone in between. Another truly offensive assumption to make about anyone. Stigmas and stereotypes that Doms make quite often that Steve would like to keep himself distance from. 

The Armory’s unclaimed submissives, however, are easy to spot. Done on purpose, Steve’s sure.They’re spread about the room -- some standing among Dominants, others stretched delicately over various pieces of furniture, and still others kneeling on silk pillows around the perimeter. Around their necks, they wear silk collars. A sign of their status that can be easily taken off and replaced if claimed by a Dom tonight. Unlike Tony and some other guests here tonight, _all_ of these subs wears masks. House rule. No exceptions. Steve suspects it’s about subjection rather than anonymity in this case, not giving them the choice.

A few of them walk about the room with serving trays. Hors d'œuvres and glasses of champagne and other drinks. They hold their silver trays flat over the palms of their hands while walking with one arm behind their backs. Perfect posture. Eyes focused straight ahead. Immaculate balance. Slaves of The Armory. Those professional subs who work here full-time and went through extensive training to earn such a position. Less than one percent of the already small submissive population ever even qualify to test to be a slave. 

From off to his side, Steve can hear Tony’s voice. It’s quiet though, far away almost, and in any case, Steve is still a bit too enthralled in the scene that he really didn’t expect to await him behind those big, intimidating doors. 

“This is really something, isn’t it.”

Steve looks over at Tony when his words finally register. He glances back out at the room.

“I… it’s not--”

“Not what you expected.” Rhodey gives a gentle tug to Tony’s leash to draw him in closer. “I’m gonna bring this one to get a drink.” He points over to the bar. “You wanna join?”

Most of Steve is screaming yes. Yes, do not leave me here by myself. Still, this other, smaller voice creeps in. Taps Steve on his shoulder and whispers in his ear. It tells him to give this a shot. Walk around. Experience this on his own for a little bit.

“Y’know?” Steve can’t believe he’s saying this without any liquid courage. “I think I’ll hang back for a bit.”

“Okay,” Rhodey replies with a nod. “Our dinner reservations are in two hours. They ring a bell on the hour every hour, so you’ll know.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Not a school bell, but you’ll hear it. In the meantime, enjoy yourself!”

As he and Tony depart, Rhodey slips an arm around Tony’s waist. Just before they turn for the bar, Tony looks back over his shoulder.

“And if you find someone, invite them to dinner!”

Steve rolls his eyes, but there is a smirk on his face. He can’t help patting his pocket. Where he’s got a leather collar of his own like every other unattached Dom there. If he’s lucky, he’ll have the honor and privilege of replacing ribbon for leather around a submissive’s neck tonight. And even for just a few hours, enjoying the thrill and chemistry with a submissive of his own.

***

The bar is covered in water droplets that Steve keeps running his finger through. They make an excellent medium for creating a new type of art that Steve’s never considered before. He’s decided to call it the _Steve’s never going to find anyone and will die alone_ style. It’s based upon his real life situation. 

Steve brings the bottle of beer he’s been nursing for the past half an hour back up to his lips to take another gulp of it. Most everyone else has been ordering drinks. Expensive ones too. Scotch and Brandy and Whiskey. Not that Steve’s beer is cheap. It’s actually delicious. Goes down crisp and fresh. Even though there’s no alcohol in it. There’s no alcohol in any of the drinks. They’re just another part of the show. The illusion. For safety. A drunk Dom, or sub, is no good in a scene.

So he finishes that one and orders another. Since, really, he’s had more chemistry with the beer than anyone he’s met here.

After more than an hour of a few pleasant conversations, some awkward ramblings, and attempts at meeting a submissive that he might hit it off with, Steve’s sitting alone at the bar. Sipping his second beer and still doodling _Steve’s never going to find anyone and will die alone style_ drawings into the polished wood with his finger. 

Most of subs he talked with were all nice enough. Just the right amount of flirtatious, eyelashes batting behind delicately framed masks. A little touchy. Sweet. There was really nothing wrong with any of them. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically submissive. More traditional than Steve is looking for. Eager to please. Eager to say yes. Always with a smile. Nothing felt natural. Organic. 

Or maybe _he’s_ the problem. Steve’s looking for The One while he’s in a place meant for fun. Hook ups and one night stands really. Being picky isn’t something he can really afford. 

And, quite honestly, Steve _isn’t_ picky. Not about gender or race or height or size. Eye or hair color doesn’t really matter to him either. Yet here he is. Alone. 

Steve sighs and rests his chin in his palm, elbow on the bar. Sips his beer some more as he watches other people having the good time he hoped to have tonight. People chatting and laughing and even dancing. Tony and Rhodey are off in a corner. Leash pulled taut. Looks like Rhodey is whispering sweet nothings -- or not less than sweet -- into Tony’s ear. Whatever he’s saying has Tony biting his lip. Steve smiles for his friends and gives them their privacy by looking away. 

They look so happy together. Things were always just so natural for the two of them. Ever since meeting in MIT. Steve’s sure it’s not always easy, it can’t be, that’s life. Even when Tony met Pepper a few years later. Steve never asked for the sorted details, but that couldn’t’ve been easy. But they make it work. Every day. 

“Chemistry, man,” Sam is always saying. “You just gotta have it with someone.” 

Steve was standing at the grill with Sam, helping him make some burgers the last time it came up. Or, really, the both of them were attempting not to burn them again. They were keeping a close eye on them lest they be the butt of jokes for the next few weeks.

They’d been at their precinct's picnic last week when it’d come up. Steve’s love life, or lack thereof, somehow always ended up being dissected at a social gathering. It was a source of great entertainment of his inner circle of friends. For a Dom to be unattached for as long as Steve, it was a little peculiar. With a string of a few short term contracts with subs and one long term relationship without one behind him, Steve did fall on the odd side. While his mom and Sam dubbed him a hopeless romantic, the rest of his friends called him a hopeless romantic bachelor for life. 

“S’not that easy, Sam,” Steve said. “I wish it was, but it’s not.”

“Sure it is.” Sam flipped a burger and grinned. “Just look at Maria and me.” 

Over at the picnic table, sipping lemonade and munching on chips and dip, Maria sat with some of their other co-workers and team members. Chemistry, Sam said. He definitely had it with Maria. Sam was a goofball. He’d try to see if he could fit his whole fist in his mouth and burst out laughing before he could even try. Maria was more of the serious type. Who would get her fist into her mouth without displaying any effort at all and then give a soft grin afterward. They were perfect for each other. It also helped that they were both switches. Which brought Steve to his next point. 

“You’re both switches. Your orientations are right,” he pointed out. “Biology counts too.” 

Conceding to that with a nod of his head, Sam reached into the cooler next to him and cracked open a beer for Steve. He patted Steve’s shoulder and flashed that slightly gapped-toothed grin of his. 

“You’re doin’ _fine_. You gotta stop overthinking it, Steve,” Sam said. “When it happens, it happens. You can’t force these things.” 

Steve sighed and smirked back. “Enough about this. Tell me more about France! I wanna hear everything!”

Maybe Steve _should_ just stop overthinking it. Just letting himself get carried away by a nice smile and lost in a pair of pretty eyes. Flirt and tease and play. He can simply be happy with someone who’s kind and hardworking and who cares for him, too. Stop trying to find something perfect and just accept that there is no perfect for him. 

Taking another gulp of his drink, Steve sighs some more. He drums his fingers over the bar. A tap, tap, tap that's completely off beat with the music playing.

“You look bored.”

Heart leaping into his throat, Steve drops the bottle of beer with a near shattering crash and he fumbles with it to keep it from spilling all over the place. He snags a couple of paper napkins to wipe up the mess as he looks around. At first, he’s not even sure where the voice -- so soft and slightly teasing -- has come from. Steve even wonders if maybe he just imagined it. No one real can sound so lovely.

Then Steve spots him. 

Long, flowing brown hair and steel-blue eyes shining behind a glittering mask shaped like a kitten, there’s a young man seated on a stool at the corner of the bar. Red lips pulled into the faintest of practiced smiles, he tilts his head to the side as though amused by Steve’s reaction when Steve looks back at him. The mask only covers the top of his face and yet Steve’s pulse quickens. Whoever this is, he’s beautiful. Steve knows it already. He’s almost delicate looking. Not weak or fragile, just something beautifully exquisite. That one rose sprouting out of the snow.

“Have you…” Steve takes another glance around. “Have you been there the whole time?”

The boy smirks. “Long enough to watch you sigh your life away.”

“I didn't… I mean, I wasn't…”

“Well, are you or aren't you?”

Steve blinks. Shakes his head in an attempt to rattle his thoughts back in place.

“Am I what?”

He smirks. Steve's heart does something strange. 

“Bored.”

“Oh.” Steve takes a long, hard look at the beer he nearly spilled everywhere. He shakes his head. “No. Not bored. Not exactly.”

Steve can't exactly see his eyebrows beneath the kitten mask, but he’s quite sure one rises.

“So which is it?” he asks. “I've never seen a Dom hiding in the corner unless they were bored.”

“I'm not _hiding_ ,” Steve bites back, overcome with the sudden need to defend himself before it occurs to him there are two people sitting here in the shadows. “You’re here, too,” he points out. “Why’re _you_ hiding?”

With a sly grin on his face and without a word, he rises to his feet with the natural ease of a sunrise, lighting up their own little corner as he steps out of the shadows and closer to Steve. If Steve was struck by his beauty before, he’s completely stunned by it now. He’s sinfully breathtaking. From the silky hair on his head to the sleek metal plates of his left arm. 

Steve was right. At first glance, he is slight in appearance. Pale in the light, which brings out the red in his plump lips and the blue in his steel eyes. He’s shorter than Steve by maybe a head, but as he comes closer, Steve can see the lean muscle on him. A gymnast, maybe. Young, too. Not the youngest here, since the age requirement is eighteen, but still younger than Steve by enough that it’s noticeable. 

For a heartbeat or two, Steve’s brain malfunctions. His heart picks up double time. Steve even needs a few seconds for them both to catch up with each other.

Steve’s not sure how he missed it -- maybe he was too focused on his face -- but he’s wearing a sheer black top, low cut so that a nice portion of the flawless skin on his chest is showing. His pants are also black. Tight. Hugging around his waist just enough to show off the curves of his legs and ass. And around his neck is a black ribboned collar. 

He’s dressed like all the other unclaimed subs of The Armory. 

“See?” he says, that smirk still teasing the corners of his mouth. “I’m not hiding.” 

Still staring, Steve’s eyes roam over this boy’s body. It’s like he can’t help himself, though he really should. It’s just incredibly difficult when he’s standing in front of what can only be described as a dream come true. Deep, dark fantasies and sweet daydreams and even the wickedness that swirls between the two. Steve’s mouth waters. He’s just so tantalizing. 

There’s just something that Steve can’t believe he missed when he first caught a glance of him. 

“You’re a… sub?” he asks. 

Amusement plays in those vivacious eyes of his, joining in with that still teasing look in his smile. 

“I should think that obvious,” he answers. “Given the general attire and…” He gives a gentle tug to the bow that keeps the ribbon around his neck.

“Well, yeah, but…” But, what? This guy’s absolutely right. There was no reason for Steve not to realize that he was a sub -- that’s the point of this place -- and yet he didn’t. Not until he was two feet in front of him. “I just… I guess I didn’t notice.”

That actually makes him laugh. Genuine, Steve thinks, and not necessarily at him. It makes his whole body shake and adds a bit of color to his cheeks. He looks cute though, and Steve holds back a grimace. 

“I’m sorry,” he says through a series of subdued chuckles. “I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just… how’d you not notice?”

Cheeks filling with a blush, Steve turns back to his drink. He swishes the beer around. The golden contents offer no courage tonight. 

“I was too busy looking at your eyes,” he admits. “And your lips.” 

His laughing tapers off to one final huff of a chuckle and he smiles as though impressed by that. 

“That’s a new one.” He gestures to the stool next to Steve. “Mind if I park it here, Sir?” He asks it, but he’s already sitting. “Want another drink?”

Until he points, Steve hadn’t even realized that his beer was nearly empty save for one last gulp. Not really know what else to do, Steve nods and knocks that back while two more drinks are ordered. 

“Another beer and a Scotch, neat, please,” he asks the bartender. “Oh, wait.” He looks back at Steve like he’s suddenly remembering that maybe Steve’s opinion matters. “Is that okay, Sir?” 

Steve nods. “Sure. And you don’t have to call me Sir.” 

“No?” he asks as he hands Steve the fresh bottle of beer. “Bigger ego then, huh? More of a _Master_ type?”

Irritation tiptoes across Steve’s bones. A tightwire act that can easily have him falling into a pit of white hot fire that might engulf him in their blazing grasp. Steve’s not sure why he’s even continuing with this conversation. While both his brain and heart have come to terms with the fact that this boy is impossibly beautiful, he’s also quite brazen and maybe even arrogant.

And yet. 

“ _Steve_.” He finds his name dropping off his tongue like a piece of lead before he remembers people usually use fake names here. “Oh… I mean… You can call me… My name is… uh…”

That smirk again. Directed right at him. Obviously, he can assume that Steve’s slipped and given out his real name. Not that it’s that big of a deal. There’re plenty of Steve’s in the world. Probably in Brooklyn alone. 

Steve sighs. Annoyed. At this sub for starting to get under his skin. At himself for _letting_ him get under his skin. At this whole failure of a night when he hasn’t even had dinner yet.

“What about you?” he grumbles. “What should I call you?”

The sub lifts his eyebrows almost suggestively. “You mean I get to choose?” Steve doesn’t say anything this time. A look is all it takes. The sub snickers and gives in. “Buchanan, is fine.” 

“Buchanan?” Steve questions. “Like the president?” 

Another one of those grins curves up on his lips and he shrugs a little at Steve’s question while taking a sip of his own drink.

“James Buchanan, 15th president of the United States,” he responds. “Did you know that he was the only president to come from Pennsylvania? And he was the only president to remain a lifelong bachelor. _And_ he was the last president born in the 18th century.” 

All Steve can do is blink as he processes all of that very random information thrown at him at once. 

“No,” he says. “I can honestly say I didn’t.” 

“Yeah.” Buchanan shrugs again, this time like he’s pleased with himself. “Most people don’t.” 

Scoffing, Steve’s eyes roam over him again. This time, at least it’s when he’s taking a drink so that Steve can save some dignity. Buchanan really is so striking in every way and that see through shirt is making Steve’s toes curl. He averts his eyes before Buchanan lowers his drink.

“So, _Steve_ ,” Buchanan says, “I take it this is your first time at The Armory?”

Hand reaching for another napkin, even though there really isn’t anything to wipe away, Steve crumples it up a bit just to keep focused on anything that _isn’t_ Buchanan’s face or body. 

“Um.” No point in lying if it’s that obvious. “Yeah. You? I guess it’s not yours.”

He chuckles. “No, Sir. This is not, as they say, my first rodeo.” 

“Do you come here often?”

If Steve wasn't ready to bash his head in before, he sure is now. _Do you come here often?_ Really? Is that his idea of small talk? He's had some difficulties tonight but this is downright ridiculous. 

Steve doesn't know if it's Buchanan's impossibly good looks or his bold attitude, but whatever it is, Steve finds himself both increasingly annoyed and drawn in by him.

Especially when Buchanan answers with, “Sure, Steve. You wanna talk about the weather next?”

Fine. If he wants to play smartass, then Steve’ll play smartass. Hell, he goes toe to toe with Tony Stark.

“Do you have a _problem_ with talking about the weather?”

The abrupt change in Steve’s attitude seems to catch Buchanan off guard. His eyes go wide. His spine stiffens. His jaw even drops slightly. Biting down on his plush, bottom lip, Buchanan holds back his grin this time. 

“No. Not particularly.” He swirls what’s left of his drink around in his glass. “It… was nice out today, wasn’t it?”

Okay, maybe Buchanan was right. This doesn’t exactly make for the most riveting of conversations.

“Sunny.” Steve clears his throat. “It’s starting to get warmer.”

“Yup. Spring’s just around the corner.” 

Oh, this really is ridiculous. This shouldn’t be so hard. Despite being awkward at times -- more than awkward even, downright riddled with anxiety -- Steve _can_ get through conversations without such problems. Without fumbling through things like the weather and the place and names. 

To be honest, Steve can’t even remember the last time he felt this nervous. He’s not even nervous really. Or maybe he is. Maybe it’s this place. Or this sub. Who’s so frustratingly pretty with that damn smirk of his that he’s just short circuiting Steve’s brain even though he’s not even all that polite. 

“How about food now?” Buchanan asks, elbow resting on the bar in such a way that he’s stretched between it and his seat. “Does that one work?” 

“Are you _sure_ you’re a sub?”

As soon as the question is out of Steve’s mouth he feels like a complete asshole. It even doesn’t close all the way, his mouth, which Steve wants to blame desperately for letting the question come out, but can’t. He asked it. He asked such a horribly insulting question to a complete stranger.

It’s one thing among personal company. Friends and family who can tease and play. Not like this. Not to just any sub. As if to say they’re not submissive enough in being who they are naturally. Like they need to submit and hand over more of themselves to someone who isn’t even their Dominant. Many Doms use such a ploy to manipulate and abuse subs into a contract. 

Buchanan had straightened up the second Steve asked it. Shoulders falling, he looks at Steve now as though he’s been slapped. 

Ash turns in Steve’s stomach as words of apology -- none of which are good enough -- swirl around in his head. Steve doesn’t get a chance to say any of them. A different kind of smile pulls up on Buchanan’s lips. Taunting. Seductive, even.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. Slips off the stool and begins to slowly step closer to Steve. Buchanan stops just in front of him and drops to his knees. Fixes a fake smile on his face and bats his eyes. “Did you want a meek, helpless little sub?”

“No, that’s not what I--”

“I know all the positions, Sir. I’ll be good for you, Sir.”

“Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Just take care of me, Sir. I can’t do it on my own, Sir.”

“I’m so, so sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean it like--”

“I’m just a poor, defenseless sub, Sir. I need a Dom to make all my decisions for me, Sir.”

“ _Please, stop_.” 

Steve doesn’t quite mean to add the steel to his voice. It just sort of happens. A natural reaction to the desperate need to be listened to. But it does get Buchanan to at least pause in his mocking. The steel in Steve’s voice, though, is no harder than the steel in Buchanan’s expression. 

“ _Why_?” he asks. “You _deserve_ it.” 

Steve cringes. Nods. Says, “I know I do. And I’m so sorry, Buchanan. You don’t have to accept my apology, I understand if you don’t. But I swear to you, I didn’t _mean_ it the way it came out. That’s no excuse, I know. I just meant… _here_ , tonight, all the submissives have been… I dunno… _that_ way.”

Buchanan scoffs. “Stereotypical, you mean. Just the way most traditionalists expect.” He starts getting to his feet again. “It’s just an act. Smoke and mirrors. They’re just putting on a show to get a collar and a bonus.” 

Looking back out at the room, Steve watches the other Armory subs flirting with the Doms here tonight. They laugh and smile and nod along to whatever it is they’re saying. Just like they did when any of them were talking with Steve. All of them look almost the same. Not completely identical, but close enough to see the similarities now that it’s been pointed out.

It’s not that Steve didn’t already know this place was meant for just a quick thrill and fun times, just a night sating inner needs and desires, but he can honestly say he thought there’d be more honesty in the process. 

No wonder he couldn’t find a connection with anyone. None of it has been real. Those smiles and touches and laughs. Not completely anyway. Not enough for Steve -- and whoever he’d been talking to at the moment -- to even feel a real attraction. It’s not that big of a loss. In fact, it’s actually quite a relief. Now, at least Steve knows he can’t really be blamed. 

Steve turns back the Buchanan, a new question tickling his mind. Something Buchanan just said. 

“Bonus?” Steve asks. 

Though Buchanan’s face isn’t what Steve would call soft, it isn’t quite as hard as it was. Not that Steve would blame him if it still was. 

“We get a bonus if we get collared.”

“Oh.” 

Many of the Armory subs _are_ wearing leather collars now. They’re seated upon their temporary Dom’s laps or kneeling at their feet or just standing with them. Still chatting or now being silent. Fetching drinks or carefully plucking small pieces of food from held out fingers. A few have taken advantage of the corners in the room. Some, Steve imagines, have already left to either have their dinner or have ventured down to the lower levels of The Armory. Where heavier activities begin to take place. 

“At the risk of digging myself into a deeper grave,” Steve says. Buchanan flicks his eyes to him. “If getting a collar for the night gets you a bonus and acting like that usually… then… why don’t… I mean… how come you’re not like…” 

Buchanan snorts and at least saves Steve from further rambling on with his tongue and cheek question. Then he takes in a deep breath and on the exhale, he stretches his lips. 

“Okay, to be fair, I haven’t exactly been a bundle of manners either,” he admits. “Not that that gave you the right to--”

“No, you’re right,” Steve agrees. “It didn’t. And I truly am sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean it.” 

Much to Steve’s relief, and to be honest, he had no idea he wanted it until it happens, Buchanan sits back down with him. 

“S’alright.” Buchanan tosses back the last of his Scotch and quickly orders another as though if he gets it in him, it’ll get him drunk even though there’s no real alcohol in it. “Like I said, I was being kind of a dick. I’ve been having a bad day. Bad week… _weeks_ … month, _three_ months.” He rolls his eyes. At himself, Steve thinks. “Still no reason to take it out on you.” 

“You _were_ very irritating,” Steve says, and Buchanan holds back a laugh. “But, if we’re being honest…” Steve glances out at the room again before turning back to Buchanan. “I think I’d rather real and irritating than fake and complacent.”

It takes Buchanan peeking down at the bar for Steve to realize that the warmth under his palm happens to be the top of Buchanan’s hand. Steve’s not sure when he placed his hand of Buchanan’s but neither of them move for a few seconds. 

Until Buchanan clears his throat and takes it back with another smile. This one is rather… cute.

“You wanna start over then?” he asks. “I can keep being irritating if you want. But maybe a little less rude?”

Steve chuckles. “I’ll try not to insult you. I’m usually pretty good at that.” 

Still smiling, maybe even a little wider now, Buchanan holds his hand out to Steve. His eyes, which not that long ago were filled with well deserved daggers, sparkle, and put a shine to the night that Steve thought was already over before it began.

“Hello, Sir,” he says as they shake hands. “I’m Buchanan.”

“Buchanan, nice to meet you,” Steve greets. “I’m Steve. You don’t have to call me Sir.” 

That cute smile is still on Buchanan’s face when he opens his mouth as though he means to say something else and then changes his mind at the last second. He shakes his head, but then does it again, this time sticking with his decision. 

“You can… you can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky then,” Steve agrees, his heart doing a little dance as it wonders whether or not this Bucky has actually given him a real name. At least a real nickname of sorts. “Bucky, do you wanna talk about it?”

A smirk teases those luscious lips again. “About what? The weather?”

“No.” Steve laughs. “You said you were having a bad day. And week and weeks and months and three months. You wanna talk about that?” Bucky just stares at him. Eyes wide and eyebrows arched. “I mean… you don’t _have_ to. I just thought I’d offer.”

Bucky gives him a long, hard stare before tapping his finger to his temple as though a lightbulb has gone off over his head. 

“Shrink?”

“What?”

“Are you a shrink?”

Oh.

“Um, no. I just--”

“A bartender?”

A bartender? Well, Steve can see where Bucky can make that correlation. It’s actually funny, too. 

“No.” Steve chuckles. “I don’t have any job that includes me listening to people. But I do help people. Or I try to. Some of us just take advantage of the position.”

“Oh, so you’re a cop.” 

Steve’s stomach falls a little. He didn’t expect that to happen at all. For Bucky to come out and get it right like that. Not even a guess. He says it like he’s perfectly sure he’s right. 

“I… I never said I was a cop.”

Yeah. Real smooth, Rogers.

“You never said you weren’t,” Bucky points out and gives Steve a quick finger gun. “You ever go on sub raids?”

Sub raids. The idea not only makes Steve sick to his stomach but also makes him want to punch a hole in the wall. Cops, the very people swearing oaths to protect citizens, harassing them instead. Raiding bars and clubs and other social places looking for submissives to bother. 

It’s ridiculous, really. The way the laws are written. They mostly favor Doms, of course, though activists like Steve are still working to get them changed. Places like The Armory are perfectly legal. A place run and owned by the city. But if a sub is caught providing the same services in an unlicensed place, it’s suddenly a crime. 

Cops will round people up. Find registered subs. Follow tips about others. Makes assumptions. And take advantage of those who they can. 

“ _No_ ,” Steve growls. “I would _never_. That’s-”

“Ah ha!” Bucky interrupts. “So, you _are_ a cop.” 

Mouth hanging open, all Steve can do is stare at Bucky as he holds back a laugh. 

“You did that on purpose,” Steve accuses. Bucky doesn’t deny it. He just shrugs. “You’re… a pain in the ass.” 

Bucky laughs. “So I’ve been told.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve runs his tongue along his teeth and huffs. This kid totally suckered that out of him just now. Just a carefully placed question about a sensitive topic and Steve completely gave himself up. Sheepish can’t even begin to describe it.

“All right, well,” Steve says, “have you ever been told slouching is bad for your posture?”

Bucky appears a bit puzzled at the apparent random question. As though he’s trying to figure out whether or not this is a trick. 

“I… I mean, I yeah. I have. I know that anyway. Why?”

Although Steve might be a simple man with simple means, he’s far from simple minded. He can most definitely keep up with some of the brightest, even someone like Bucky. Who Steve suspects shines among the stars. 

“Because you’re slouching,” Steve tells him. “Sit up _straight_ , Bucky.” 

Slipping the Dominant tone into his voice is easy. It’s just natural when he feels right and comfortable in taking control of a situation. And Bucky’s reaction, is exactly what he hoped for. 

Eyes falling closed, Bucky’s hand takes a tight grip around the edge of the bar. A shiver runs through his limbs, hard enough that Steve can actually see it. He needs to suck in a deep breath -- it’s shaky when he releases it through slightly parted lips -- before he opens his eyes again. 

The response is simply biological. His body and mind reacting to Steve’s Dominance. More intense right now than it would be just hearing some random Dom on the street. He and Steve are interacting in a very specific situation. Whether or not Bucky _listens_ and obeys, is completely up to him. 

And, much to Steve’s excitement, Bucky does, in fact, straighten up. Sits up with his shoulders back and knees touching and hands in his lap. 

“Better,” Steve says, and holds back showing the thrill that rushes through him. His own biological response of having a submissive obey him. “Now, Bucky, would you like to talk about it?” 

“Do you… really wanna hear about it?” Bucky asks. 

Steve grins. “I don’t mind listening if you want a pair of unbiased ears. I can make it an order if that’ll help get you started.” 

A blush darkens Bucky’s cheeks and pride runs through Steve like an overflowing river. He’s made him blush. That feels like quite the accomplishment. 

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “That’s okay, I’ll tell you. I kinda just… got out of a contract.”

And just like that, Steve instantly feels about three feet tall. This is none of his business and that’s some really personal stuff. 

“Oh. Oh, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

But Bucky just waves him off. 

“Nah, don’t be.” He loosens up again, the weight of Steve’s previous order slowly wearing off. It wasn’t exactly all that serious. They both know that, and it’s not like Steve’s really his Dom anyway. “It was just four months and he was a jackass. Just _barely_ stayed within the limits of our contract. I mean, he _did_ but just enough for it not to be illegal.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s eyebrows pull in. “Then… why…” 

“Well I didn’t _know_ he was a jackass at first.” Bucky rolls his eyes, but Steve doesn’t think it’s at him. More at himself. “You see, I do this thing, right? I meet the same type of guy over and over. This big, strong, tough looking guy who pays _me_ all this attention and I just fuckin’ melt under his hands. And I think this one’ll be different. And then I dive right in, head first, cause I love the heavy stuff and I _want_ it, I _do_ , and _fuck_ , do they know how to deliver. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want the lighter stuff, too. Oh, and _forget_ it if they find out that I qualify to take the slave exam.” 

A justified disgruntled look fixes upon Bucky’s face. Steve stores the little tidbit about Bucky being qualified for the slave exam for later. Right now, he’s more concerned with everything else he’s just been told. 

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs. “I can’t believe I just told you all that.”

“Hey, no, that’s okay.” Steve puts a hand on his knee. “I told you I’d listen. You know--”

“Please, don’t say it.”

Steve tilts his head. He doesn’t know what Bucky means at all. He really can’t imagine what he thinks he’s going to say. 

“Don’t… don’t say what?”

Bucky sighs. “That I deserve what I get. I’m not doin’ it on purpose, it just happens.”

“No!” Steve exclaims. “Bucky, I wasn’t gonna say that at all. The opposite, actually. I was gonna say _they_ don’t deserve _you_.”

For a few seconds, Bucky just gives him this strange look. As though Steve’s words strung together in such a way to make _that_ statement have never been said before. Steve can’t imagine that to be completely true. He’s sure Bucky’s got friends who say it. It’s just that… society at large, other Doms… it’s a typical victim blaming response. 

“That’s what you were gonna say?” Bucky asks. Almost like he’s not sure if he should believe him. His look even expresses such doubts. “Really?”

“Of course, really,” Steve says. “A beautiful sub like yourself? _Any_ sub, really. No one deserves that. But I do believe in what we’re taught.” Bucky’s eyebrows lift a fraction. “That the gift of submission is the greatest gift a Dominant can ever hope to receive and should be cherished at all times.”

Bucky barks a laugh. It’s hard to tell if he’s amused or if it’s fake or something in between both. But behind his mask, those eyes of his are watching Steve like he’s never seen anything like him. 

“Are you for real?” he asks. “You don’t really think I’m gonna _fall_ for that, do you?”

“It’s not a _line_ , Bucky,” Steve says. “I mean it.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Sure you do. _No_ Dominant believes that. I doubt any of them _ever_ did.” 

“Well, _I_ do. And I know other people who do.”

“Oh really?” Bucky folds his arms over his chest as though getting ready to win an ultimate bet. “Like who?”

“Like Tony Stark’s Doms.” 

Another roll of Bucky’s eyes. This time he even scoffs. As frustrating as this is -- Steve’s honor and intentions being questioned -- he understands just why Bucky doesn’t believe him. The world isn’t exactly as kind to submissives as it should be. Even with all the modern laws and changes still taking place. 

“How can you possibly know that?” Bucky asks. “Just because they put on a show for the cameras doesn’t mean--”

“Because I know them,” Steve says. “Personally.”

Arms falling away from being pinned against his chest, Bucky runs his right hand gently over the metal of his left arm. He doesn’t say anything, so Steve just sits there and takes a quick glance at what he’s doing. Steve’s seen metal prosthetics before. None quite as beautifully done and shaped as this one though. Plates curved and overlapping in a way that Steve doubts will pinch or cause any other mishaps. Polished. No fingerprints left behind either. 

When Bucky’s fingers roll in, Steve realizes his glance has turned into staring. He offers a small smile of apology, but Bucky doesn’t seem to need it. 

“You _know_ Tony Stark?” he asks, softly. Bucky seems to suddenly be having difficulty looking at Steve, and when he does, his eyes are glistening. “Like, for _real_?” 

“Yes. He’s a good friend of mine.” Steve looks over his shoulder. Eyes searching for Tony and Rhodey. “He’s here tonight. With Rhode-uh-with Colonel Rhodes. I could introduce you if you--”

“No!” Steve swirls back around to find Bucky with this terrified look on his face. “I… I couldn’t do that.” He shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to thank him for this.” Bucky holds his arm up. “He built and customized everything about it, but I never met him and he wouldn’t even know who I was and--”

“Actually, he might,” Steve tells him. “You’d be surprised.”

Bucky blinks and fiddles with his fingers. His face then clears of any emotion brought on by the current conversation and he crosses his arms again. This time loose and nonchalant. 

“So,” he says. “You mean to tell me that you believe all that gift nonsense? I mean, _I’m_ all for it, being a sub and all, but I’ve never met a Dom who bought into it. You’re telling me that some of those hot shot, celebrity activists mean it?”

Hot shot, celebrity activists. Obviously, Bucky’s talking about Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper and doesn’t want to admit it. Funny. He had no trouble coming up to a total stranger and, by his own admission, act like a dick, but the thought of meeting Tony and Rhodey leaves him completely starstruck.

And this is him changing the subject so that Steve can’t notice any more than he already has. 

“Yes,” Steve says. “They do. Some of them, anyway.”

“Hm.” Bucky taps his chin. “I guess that’s reassuring.” He grins and leans over the bar. “So, Steve, tell me about yourself. If you play the good cop, does that mean your partner plays the bad cop?”

Of course, Steve denies that one immediately. Tells Bucky that neither of them are the bad cop. That they both joined the force after the time in the military in hopes to make a difference. 

They go on making small talk for a little while. A lot simpler than before. Bucky is still easily able to get under Steve’s skin with a few irritating comments and Steve is able to recover with a few well placed words that make Bucky fold his lips in and laugh. There’re a few playful touches. Laughs. 

And then the bell Rhodey spoke of rings. Again. The two hours are up and it’s time for supper. 

Most of the room begins to clear out. Guests who haven’t made or couldn’t afford dinner reservations simply remain in the Grand Hall. Unclaimed submissives of The Armory leave altogether. They’re going through the side, service doors. Done for the night. Which is probably why Bucky is slipping off the stool.

“I suppose you have a date with supper,” he says. 

“Oh. Um.“ Steve glances around at the people leaving. “Yeah. I’m supposed go.”

Bucky nods. “Try the steak. It’s delicious. Anyway, it was great to meet you, Steve.”

“Uh, right.” Steve just watches, brain and heart once again not behaving for him, as Bucky starts to leave. “You too… Bucky.” 

Steve starts to leave then as well, heading towards the great dining hall to have this dinner he’s heard all about. It’s what he’s supposed to do. He only gets a few steps before he stops. 

“Hey… Bucky?”

A quick glance over his shoulder is all it takes to see that Bucky’s stopped and is also looking over his shoulder. Steve turns completely. 

“Yeah?”

A knot ties tight in Steve’s stomach. Maybe this is a bad idea. Bucky’s made no indication he wants to be asked this, but Steve needs to try.

“I was wondering if maybe, if you… if you want…” Steve clears his throat. “Do you wanna come with me?”

“Come with you?” Bucky questions. “To supper?”

“Well… I mean as… as my… ” Steve swallows the hard rock that’s managed to lodge itself in his throat. That leather collar in his pocket now weighs a ton. “As my sub? Y’know, for tonight? That way, hey…” He shrugs. Tries to seem cool and collected enough for a joke. Feels the failure floating through him as an awkward chuckle forces its way up his throat. “You can get your bonus!" 

Eyebrows stitched, Bucky turns all the way now. He looks at Steve with a twist of his pursed lips as though he’s thinking very hard about Steve’s proposal. He takes a look in the direction all the other unclaimed subs have gone and then back at Steve.

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs. Nonchalant enough that Steve honestly isn’t sure if he’s just putting on an act or not. “I guess that’s fine.”

They just stand there, looking at each other. Bucky’s agreed to be Steve’s sub for the night, but it wasn’t exactly with gusto. Now Steve isn’t sure if he agreed because they were starting to get along pretty well or if just to get Steve’s collar and the bonus that goes along with it. Steve hopes for the first, but, with a twist to his heart, thinks it’s the latter. 

“Um.” Steve hates this feeling of inadequacy but it’s all over him like a rabid dog. Sinking teeth into skin and not letting go. “What do we do now? I don’t… know how this works, really.” 

That smart-ass smirk of his curves up the side of Bucky’s mouth again. His eyes have that same irritating shimmer to them as before. 

“Really?” Bucky asks. Sashays back over with a cool sway of his hips. “I had no idea.” 

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Look, do you wanna be my sub or not?”

Folding his grin in, Bucky nods and drops -- very gracefully, actually -- to his knees. He looks up at Steve as he gently tugs the bow of the ribboned collar around his neck out. It unravels slowly, then suddenly, falling to a pile of silk on the marble floor. Then Bucky looks up at Steve, hands behind his back, chin tilted up, throat exposed. 

There’s something rather… intimate about the whole thing. About Bucky getting into a Collaring position. Sure, there’re other people in the room with them and it's in informal Collaring position, otherwise, he wouldn't be looking at Steve, but it doesn’t feel like it. At least, not for Steve. Right in front of him is a beautiful submissive, on his knees to subjugate himself for the rest of the night to what’s basically a perfect stranger. 

And now that Bucky’s cooperating -- well, not being a smart ass anyway -- Steve’s heart swells. Gold spirals down his spine. Shimmers through his fingertips as they slip the leather collar around Bucky’s neck and easily work the end through the buckle.

Once the collar is on, Steve can’t help himself. His thumb skims over the top of it and across Bucky’s jaw line.

“You like it, Sir?” 

Steve’s eyes lift from the collar and back to Bucky face. He’s watching with a tad bit of curiosity swirling around. Maybe actually interested in the answer to his question. If Steve can figure out what it is. 

“What?” Steve asks. “What was that?”

Bucky grins. Softly this time. He flicks his head so that his all of his hair is pushed back behind his shoulders.

“Do you like it?”

Taking a step back, Steve admires his temporary sub. He’s never seen anything quite so beautiful. It might not be a contracted collar or a permanent collar, but it’s theirs for the night. 

“Yes,” Steve murmurs. “Thanks for accepting it.” 

A twitch of a smile. Maybe a few other thoughts that puff out like smoke in Bucky’s eyes before becoming words. Then, “You’re going to be late for supper, Sir.”

“Oh.” They’re the only ones left with reservations. “I guess I’m supposed to tell you to get up?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you’re gonna call me sir, too, aren’t you?”

Hands still tucked behind his back, Bucky bows his head. He nods without looking back up.

“I’m your sub now.” 

That’s all he says. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s none of that honey sweet, meek tone to his voice like maybe some of the other Armory submissives may have used. Bucky just says it matter of factly. Just a statement of tonight’s truth. 

“Right. Um. C’mon then.” Steve takes him by the shoulders to help him back to his feet. “I guess the sir is fine, but you can still keep using my name, too.”

“Okay,” Bucky says as they walk to the doors together. “Anything else, Sir?”

This is one of those traditional, protocol meals, that much Steve’s aware of. Subs will be at the Dom’s feet. They can speak quietly to each other, but only speak to other Dominants when given permission. No eye contact without that same permission. They’re fed by their Dom. A few other old practices as well, and then whatever rules and protocols that are privately established. 

“Not really. I’m not all that particular. But if I think of something, I’ll let you know.”

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, Steve.”

A small part of Steve is pretty sure Bucky finds something funny about this. He can’t imagine why, but it’s hard to miss the almost condescending smirk on his face, even if he’s not actually looking at Steve. Almost as though that’s the answer he was expecting. 

“Actually, since you mentioned it,” Steve says. Slows Bucky down by placing a hand on his hip. “You remember how I told you I was friends with Tony Stark and all that?”

Eyes growing wide, Bucky stares at Steve with frightened suspicion. His head shakes a little. Not denying the truth of remembering. Clearly hoping to avoid what Steve might say next. 

“Y-yeah?”

“Right. Well, we’re having dinner with him and James Rhodes.” Steve flashes him a toothy grin. “There’s a good chance you’re gonna be sitting next to him. So. Let’s get a move on, huh?”

Hand at the small of Bucky’s back, Steve gives him a soft push. Just enough to make him take a step forward, not force him to keep going. Bucky has the option to say no, of course. Maybe not according to The Armory rules. The Armory states that once a sub accepts a Dom’s collar that’s it for the night. A binding contract until the night is over. Midnight when The Armory closes for those who don’t have a suite and dawn for those that do. But Steve isn’t going to hold him to that. Not if Bucky doesn’t truly want this. 

But Bucky doesn’t resist beyond an initial stiffening of his body. After that, he lets out a huff of a laugh and just shakes his head. 

“Yeah,” he deadpans. “That seems about right.” Bucky takes a glimpse up at him. Pouting. He’s actually pouting, and Steve’s heart could just melt. “Lead the way, Sir.” 

So Steve does. With a happy little dance inside heart, Steve leads Bucky -- his sub for the night, wearing Steve’s collar around his neck, and a little pout on his face -- to the dining hall. 

***

Everyone was right. The food was simply delicious. Maybe even better than the food served at Tony’s weddings. Not that he’d ever come out and say that, since Tony might end up throwing another just to compete with this menu. 

A cream of watercress soup to start with that pooled in and warmed Steve’s belly. Orange sorbet between courses. Steak that melted right on Steve’s tongue. Tender, perfectly cooked asparagus. Creamy mashed potatoes. Red wine was served. Water as well for those who didn’t want the wine. 

The dining hall itself is set up like a large reception hall -- big enough to hold hundreds of people for a grand event. Round tables decorated with lacy cloth and red rose petals and flower topped candelabras are set up around the room. 

Six people sit at the one Steve’s at. Well, twelve, if he includes the subs that are kneeling quietly -- mostly quietly -- on silk pillows around the table. Everyone has been friendly enough so far, but Steve’s kept his conversation mostly limited to Rhodey and, when the permission is given, Tony. 

And, of course, he pays quite a lot of attention to Bucky. Steve’s submissive, even when they’re not talking at all, keeps him thoroughly distracted. 

Like the rest of the subs, Bucky eats his supper from the floor. A bowl of soup is placed in front of him and from the back pocket of his pants he plucks a hair tie to pull his hair back. There’re no utensils for him. He simply leans forward as though he means to kiss the floor and sips. Other Doms do get their subs spoons for the soup, but Steve can’t bring himself to ask for one. Watching Bucky is just too tantalizing. 

It’d taken Steve a few minutes to remember that he had soup, too, and that he should probably start eating. 

For the rest of the meal, if Bucky is going to eat, it’s up to Steve. He feeds him from his own fingers. Small pieces of food at a time that Bucky gently takes between his teeth and sips of wine -- the amount decided by Steve -- and, sometimes, received a small pet over his hair as a reward. He did say earlier he enjoyed such things, and every time Steve does it, Bucky slightly leans into the touch. 

Every now and then, Steve notices Bucky shifting closer to him. The first time, an absolute _thrill_ shoots through him. Then, he realizes it has nothing to do with him at all. 

Just like he’d said when they were headed towards the dining room, Bucky is kneeling next to Tony. And sub or not, kneeling or not, rules or not, Tony is still active and social and perfectly content with being the center of attention. 

Bucky, on the other hand, might be all of those things, Steve’s not quite sure yet, but he certainly doesn’t want them from one of his celebrity crushes. Since subs are at liberty to speak freely, Tony does talk to him. Steve, holding back an amused grin, strains his ears to listen as best he can. 

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” Tony greets. Bucky nods and offers a timid wave. “This your first time at The Armory?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head and looks at his lap. “Ooo, is that one of mine?” Tony points to Bucky’s left arm. Bucky holds it out for him to see. “It is! I remember this one.” 

Steve holds back the urge to give Bucky an _I-told-you-so._ Tony takes hold of Bucky’s hand and turns it this way and that.

“One of my favorites. Worked real hard on it. Very detailed. Wanted to get it just right, given the circumstances.” 

Eyes wide, though still gazing at his lap, Bucky says his very first words to Tony. “You… you made it? _Personally_?”

“Sure did,” Tony answers. He himself is still focused on Bucky’s arm. “Designed and built. How’s it holdin’ up for ya? Mobility? Flexibility? Strength? Fits well? Any complaints? Let me know and I’ll fix it right up for you.” 

“Tony.” 

Tony glances up when Rhodey calls for his attention, so absorbed in Bucky’s arm and that it’s flawless that it’s as though he’s forgotten he’s at The Armory and not in his lab. 

“Sir?”

“Why don’t you give the boy some space.” It might sound like a request, soft and gentle, but Steve -- and Tony, surely, -- knows better. It’s an order. Outright. “You have no idea what you’re like and the poor kid looks totally overwhelmed.” 

Mouth opening like he means to say something, Tony, for once, actually gets nothing out. He probably sees what Steve’s seen this whole time. The blush to Bucky’s cheeks. The nibbling to his lips. The very intentional avoidance of eye contact. Instead of saying anything, Tony carefully sets Bucky’s arm back like it’s a fragile piece of glass. 

“Wow. I… probably shouldn’t’ve done that,” he says to Bucky. “That’s your arm and I just… M’sorry.” He holds his palms out as if to stress the apology and then looks up to Rhodey. “I’m… I’m sorry, Sir. If I embarrassed you.” 

Before answering Tony, Rhodey takes a glimpse over at Bucky. As soon as he does, Bucky drops his gaze. He also leans back a little. Just enough so that he’s brushed up against Steve’s knee. Almost as though he finds some sort of courage or comfort from that touch. 

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve leans down to whisper into his ear. “You can look up.” 

He does, albeit through long, thick lashes. Steve wonders if he’s too intimidated to really look either of them in the eye. It’s actually very cute. 

“Apologies for my knucklehead sub,” Rhodey says to Bucky. Hand on Tony’s head so he can playfully rock it from side to side. “He loses himself sometimes. Gets too excited. I hope he didn’t offend you.”

Bucky looks back at Steve first. Seeking permission to speak to another Dom. Steve nods. When he does speak, it’s high and rushed and not all that coherent. 

“No, it’s his. My arm. I mean, his arm. Well, mine, I guess. Cause it’s here. On me. But he made it… so. Y’know. Um. It’s. And that’s okay.”

The second the last word falls from his lips, Bucky deflates right front of them. Shoulder dipping, head falling, breath ripped right from his lungs. 

Both Rhodey and Tony blink at him before Rhodey lifts his gaze back up to Steve. 

“I’m sorry if my sub broke yours,” he says. 

Steve chuckles. Poor Bucky looks embarrassed by his starstruck blunder, but not hopelessly so. He gives Bucky’s shoulder a tight, affectionate squeeze. Bucky glances over his shoulder. Looks a little surprised at the contact, but also grateful. He smiles. 

“Actually,” Steve says, eyes still on Bucky, “I think it was quite a humbling experience.” 

That’s enough to chase away Bucky’s smile and replace it with a glower. If Steve didn’t know any better, and such things were allowed here, he’d be willing to bet that Bucky is just the sort of sub bratty enough that he’d try to bite him right now. 

Steve finds himself most intrigued by such a thought. Of course, if Bucky bit him, he’d have to punish him. And that would be opening a can of confetti filled, fun, and colorful worms. 

 

Once supper is finished, and dessert -- a wonderful tart cake -- has been eaten -- Steve notices that some other Doms begin to leave with their subs. The chit chat of the dining hall is dying off to a low murmur and even at their own table, only Steve and Rhodey remain with Bucky and Tony. The rest of the table, like those who’ve departed the room, are off to explore the other floors of The Armory. 

To make use of their chests and wardrobes chock full of high end toys. Top of the line. 

Dildos and vibrators and plugs. Cock rings and cages and chastity belts. Spreader bars. Every bondage tool imaginable. Whips and floggers and paddles of every type. Candles and ice for temperature play. Feathers. All sorts of gags -- different shapes and sizes. Strap-ons. Tools for sensory deprivation. 

Then there’re the apparatuses and furniture. The Saint Andrew’s Crosses. Stocks and bonds. Cages -- big and small. Spanking horses. Bondage benches and chairs. 

Steve has a small collection at home. Nothing to brag about. Mostly a starter kit with a few things he’s added over the years for the contracts he’s had. Nothing like the selection here. Something for everyone. If a Dom can’t find the right toy here, they don’t belong scening with a sub yet. 

The Armory takes no chances in such matters either. Background checks on every Dom in attendance are mandatory. They know just how far someone went in traditional training classes and how many refresher courses they’ve taken. All the demonstrations they’ve attended and contracts they’ve had. Anyone caught attempting anything above their experience level will be kicked out and fined. Even face charges if they hurt a submissive due to their negligence. 

Steve’s not exactly worried about that. He might not’ve had a contracted sub in some time, but it’s not like he’s rusty -- far from it. If Bucky’s willing -- and he did say that he enjoyed the heavier and rougher -- maybe he’ll consent to Steve in the harder things. 

Bucky dripping with sweat and trembling all over and begging at the top of his lungs for Steve to let him come. The image sends a shock right to the center of Steve’s stomach. It shoots through the rest of his body like lightning. Sparks firing from his fingertips. 

“Steve?”

It takes his name being called twice for Steve to realize that Rhodey is speaking to him. 

“Yeah?” Steve can only hope he’s not as red as he feels. “Rhodey?”

The grin on Rhodey’s face suggest there might be a slight blush on Steve’s face after all. 

“I was just saying the I’m gonna taking Tony down a level,” he says. “You gonna stay here or explore?”

“Oh.” Steve glances down at Bucky, still on his knees upon the silk pillow. He peers up at him. “Y’know, I think…” He puts a hand down on Bucky’s head. “I think I’ll stay here. On this level.” 

When he answers Rhodey, Bucky faces away again, but right before he does, a strange look passes over his face. Almost as though he’s not really surprised by Steve’s response. There’s even something of a smile on his face. Steve isn’t sure what it means and doesn’t have too much time to think about it. 

Most of the room is empty and Rhodey is already tugging on Tony’s leash to bring himself to his feet. Steve hears Rhodey murmur something about going down a level below and Tony actually giggles as he nods. Once they disappear through the doors, Steve takes a look around and sees that he and Bucky are officially the last ones in the room save for unclaimed subs clearing everything out. Just glasses and dishes and utensils clanking together.

There’s a tug at Steve’s pants. Steve glance down to find himself staring into a pair of mischievous eyes. That smirk Steve’s beginning to wonder might be Bucky’s favorite. 

“What?” Steve asks. “What’s that look for?”

“I dunno why people get all nutty when meeting celebrities,” Bucky says. Eyes twinkling brighter in his eyes than the sparkles on his mask. “It’s not big deal. I mean, look at me. Totally kept my cool.” 

“Kept your--?” 

Steve just stares at him, wide-eyed. Does he really think that or is he just joking around? Bucky was barely even able to look Tony in the eye and couldn’t even form a coherent sentence to talk to Rhodey and he thinks he kept his cool. Well, the kid’s self-assured, Steve’ll give him that. 

“So. Um.” Steve clears his throat. “I guess we should head out of here.” There’re two ways to go. Either back the way they came or keep heading further into the rooms of The Armory. “Should we… go back to the Grand Hall or… should we go into the Parlor?” 

Bucky glances back up at him. Eyebrows lifted. “I believe that’s up to _you_ , Sir.” 

In theory, yes, Steve knows that. It’s just that the two rooms are vastly different. If they go back to the Grand Hall, the night will, for the most part, continue on in the same fashion it’d been before supper. Polite conversation, drinks, dancing. Subtle displays of Dominance and submission going on throughout the room. 

The Parlor will be different. In there will be less polite company and more couples a little more willing to be a bit more over in their play. Not by all that much, it’s still the Upper Floor of The Armory, but scenes will be more obvious. 

A part of Steve wonders if maybe he should just stick to what he feels most comfortable with at the moment. Go back to the Grand Hall and play it safe. But then, that’ll defeat the purpose of being here. Of being able to experience someplace new and see brand new things. Maybe even learn a few new tricks and meet new people. New. That’s the point. 

“I, uh, I think we should go to The Parlor,” Steve says. “I wanna see what it’s like in there.” 

Bucky makes a quick hum in the back of his throat as though impressed -- maybe even a little surprised -- by Steve’s decision. Still, he kneels there on the pillow, waiting for Steve’s permission to stand. Steve flicks his fingers to give it and they go into the Parlor. 

Just as Steve expected, there’re a mix of pleasantries -- talking and drinking and laughing -- and scenes going on at the same time. 

Some people are just sitting around chatting, but while they do so, a few Doms have their subs pleasuring them. With their hand or with their mouth. Over the pants or just gentle suckles, but enough to be noticeable. In one corner, a Dom has her sub over her lap with his pants down around his ankles while she gives him a bare-handed spanking. They have an audience. Subs are lead around on leashes, some on two legs, some on all fours. Others crawl across the floor to the bar to fetch drinks. A few sit on their Dom’s laps or at their feet. Being pet or touched or teased while their Dom talks to them and even other people. There are also people who aren’t do anything more that having casual conversations. Talking and watching what’s going on around them. 

It’s a scene of debauchery, Steve can’t deny that, yet there’s something beautifully discreet about it. Everyone is dressed finely. Soft music floats gently through the room -- possibly the same as from in the Grand Hall. A sea of people here for a pleasant evening. 

“Are we just gonna stand here all night?”

Bucky asks the question without opening his mouth all the way. Keeps his voice muffled and hushed so that anyone close enough can’t tell that he’s spoken without permission. Steve needs to remember to give him blanket permission to speak to him at any time. Also to thank him for snapping him out of it. He actually may have just stood here if he didn’t. 

“Right. Um.” Steve glances around again, this time not getting caught up in any of what’s going on. “Where do you wanna go?”

Bucky scoffs. “Y’know, you _do_ know this is up to you, right?”

“Yes.” Steve sighs. “I _do_ know that. Just because I want your opinion doesn’t mean I don’t.” 

“Well, I don’t really have an opinion.” Bucky just shrugs. Doesn’t comment on what Steve’s pointed out. “So, it’s up to you.”

“Fine.” Steve points to the bar where there’re still a few empty seats. “Let’s just go over there then.”

When Steve puts his hand at the back of Bucky’s neck, Bucky shudders under the weight of it and the command of his words. Steve keeps his hand there the entire time it takes them to get to the bar and Bucky’s submissive response tingles through Steve’s body. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are closed. His teeth are clenched. It’s only when Steve brings them to a stop that Bucky opens his eyes.

Pulling out one of the stools, Steve gestures for him to sit and Bucky does without question. Cause and reaction. Steve orders them drinks, the same as before, and simply picks up where they left off before. Just small talk. Light conversations that don’t need to be filled with any sort of pressure. 

It comes out natural. Easy. Almost feels like they’re on a date when they’re very much not on a date. This is nice though. Steve’s a big fan of nice. 

“So,” Steve says a little while later. “I have a question. But you don’t have to answer it, it’s not an order.” 

“Hm.” Bucky grins. “This sounds promising.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “What’s the question?”

“Well, it’s just…” He clears his throat. “Before, you said something about qualifying to take the slave exam…” 

A blush crawls across Bucky’s cheeks. He pulls his arms in and looks down at his lap. There’s a long enough stretch of silence that Steve is about to remind Bucky he’s not obligated to answer when he looks up again. 

“You caught that, huh?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Well, it’s just, y’know…” 

Rare, is what it is. Rarer than submissives. People with the potential to enter into a consensual slavery contract hinges on a different kind of commitment than that of a submissive. Submissives decide how much authority they will cede to another, how much control they will bow to, and what aspects of their life they will surrender to their Dominant's command. Slavery is different. These decisions are not made by the slave, but by the Owner _for_ the slave, after the general commitment of obedience is in place. 

Slaves give themselves over wholey. Their body and mind becomes the legal property of their Master. Obedience in all things is expected. The _no_ a sub can say in the idea of renegotiating or even outright refusing an order disappears. There isn’t a _no_ the lives of a consensual slave. 

Even when someone qualifies to take the exam, most people don’t. And even if they do, that doesn’t mean they’ll pass or want to be someone’s slave. They always have the choice until they give it up. 

“Yeah.” Bucky faces the bar and taps his hands over the bar. His toes are tapping, too. “Can’t tell ya how many Doms’ve tried to get me to take the exam. But.” He shrugs. “No dice. So… was that your question?”

“Um. I guess…” Steve twists his lips. “I’ve never met anyone who did before. I’ve just always found it fascinating. And beautiful.” 

“Beautiful?” Bucky questions.

“Sure. To have a connection and bond and trust _that_ deep? That’s gotta be… something pretty incredible, don’t you think?”

Bucky crinkles his face like the idea of everything Steve’s just said doesn’t make any sense. 

“You really are somethin’, aren’t you?” He chuckles. “First the whole _submission is a gift_ spiel and now this? You’re one of a kind, Steve, lemme tell ya.” 

Not sure how to respond to that, Steve picks up his beer and swishes some of it around before taking a drink. He’s not quite sure why everything he says to Bucky about these things seems to bother him so much. Steve’s already told him he’s not trying to give him a line or even pick him up. Hell, it wouldn’t even make any sense to _try_. Once they part ways tonight that’s it. 

It’s not like Steve can look him up or anything. Sure, Bucky knows that his name is Steve and that he’s a cop and that he likes to draw. Steve knows that here at The Armory Bucky goes by Buchanan, and sometimes Bucky, and that he has a celebrity crush on Tony Stark and James Rhodes and Pepper Potts. Other than a few other superficial likes and dislikes, silly stories that haven’t mentioned names and stay vague, and teasing and flirting, that’s all they know about each other. Not much evidence to track him down outside of here.

“Am I irritating you again?” Bucky asks when Steve doesn’t say anything for a while. 

Steve’s mouth quirks up. “A little.” 

“Sorry.” Bucky chuckles. “I’ve just never been here with a Dom that’s so chatty.”

“Oh. Is that wrong?” 

“Wrong?” Another chuckle. “No, not really. Just unusual. Most Doms take the chance to, y’know, act out as many fantasies as they can. This feels more like a date.” _Welcome to my thoughts, kid._ “You must be the social extrovert of your friends.” 

A thought that not only makes Steve want to laugh but even makes him anxious enough to feel a tightness in his lungs. A horrible feeling, really. Steve knows he can make friends and be a barrel of laughs and have a ton of fun. It’s just a matter of climbing up that mountain, sometimes pushing a boulder along with him, and reaching the top. To a place where he feels safe and comfortable to do all those things. 

But sometimes, when Steve’s lucky enough, he meets someone that he doesn’t have to climb a mountain to feel comfortable with. Instead, they’re at the top already. Enjoying the view together. 

“Actually,” Steve says, “it’s the opposite. I’m pretty awkward and nervous unless I’m really comfortable with someone.” 

Bucky smiles and sits up straight. That proud expression -- tiptoeing on arrogant -- coats around him. 

“Does that mean I make you feel comfortable?”

“Well, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t’ve given you my collar if you didn’t.” 

“Even though I--”

“Even though you irritate me, yes.”

Folding that smile in, Bucky snickers and starts looking around the room. Steve follows his lead and makes a quick decision. 

“Okay, let’s try something different.” Steve gestures around. “What’d you like happening here most?”

Eyes filling with intrigue, Bucky smirks and bites down on the side of his lip. He might mumble something about things getting interesting, but it’s too quiet and muffled for Steve to be sure. 

“See that lady over there?” 

Bucky points to where a Dom is spanking her sub. The sub is squirming over her Dom’s lap, tears in the corner of her eyes and trying to keep her sobs back so her Dom can continue her conversation. 

“Yeah?” Steve says. “You like that? Being spanked?”

He gets an exaggerated roll of the eyes for that response. Bucky huffs and leans up against the bar.

“Of _course_ I like bein’ spanked.” He shakes his head like Steve is ridiculous, but hey, Steve’s not about to make another rude assumption, even if Bucky did say earlier he likes the heavy and rough stuff. “I mean _her_ in particular. She likes to use her nails. Like… everywhere. And I mean _everywhere_.” He narrows his eyes. “ _Everywhere_. When I say everywhere I mean--”

“I _know_ what you _mean_ , Bucky,” Steve growls. 

Palms out, Bucky concedes to that with a nod and another smirk. Knows he’s probably being irritating and having fun with the idea. Steve holds back a roll of his eyes. 

“How do you know who she is? Maybe she’s someone else.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. She always wears the same mask.” He looks around some more. “I like… I guess pretty much everything that’s goin’ on up here.” 

Much to Steve’s surprise, Bucky settles into a warm smile when watching a couple over on a leather love seat. Where a sub is being gently pet by their Dom. A comfortable display of love and affection. They’re not from The Armory. Just a couple here to enjoy the night together. 

Then Bucky clears his throat and focuses on Steve again. Acts like he never lingered on the couple in the first place. 

“So, what about you, Sir?” Bucky asks. “What’s _your_ favorite?”

“I, uh, I guess I like all of this. It’s nice.” Steve blushes behind his mask. “There’s intimacy but also sensual pleasure everywhere. I think this is a really good level to start with.”

“I’ve been through all the levels,” Bucky says. Touches the kitten mask over his face like he’s proud of himself. “It’s always interesting to see where my Dominant wants to go. And for an inexperienced Dom, I think it’s at least a little nice to have a sub that doesn’t need to be trained.” He bobs his head. “Well, at least not trained in matters that aren’t personal.”

Eyebrows pulling in, Steve turns in his seat and takes another sip of his beer. While Bucky isn’t _wrong_ , Steve’s not exactly sure why he’s saying it. Or, more to the point, putting it in such a way. Does he think Steve’s inexperienced? 

Yes, Dominants can learn from submissives just as much as submissives can learn from Dominants -- even if there are some or too many people in the world who would deny such a simple fact -- and there’s a very good chance that Steve can learn something from Bucky. Anything, really. Just like Bucky could probably learn something from Steve. Steve’s just not sure why Bucky seems to assume he has so little experience. 

“So.” Steve clears his throat. “You’ve been through all the levels, huh?” Bucky grins and bats his eyes. “Which is your favorite?” 

Bucky laughs. “I suppose that depends.”

“On?”

“The Dominant, of course.”

“Oh.” 

Steve chuckles to himself and discreetly lets his eyes run over the boy’s body. It’s hard not to. He’s just so striking in appearance. Maybe Steve’s biased since Bucky’s his sub tonight. He’s accepted Steve’s temporary collar. Agreed to be _his_. And likes to be spanked. Likes nails biting into that soft, delicate skin of his -- _everywhere_. Likes the heavy and rough. 

Blood pumps hard and heavy through Steve’s veins. He swallows hard. Maybe changing topics to this one wasn’t exactly a good idea. 

The more Steve sits there with Bucky -- the longer they’re together and close and talking about these things -- the more Steve desires to be nearer. To reach out and touch him. To kiss him. Slam him down against this bar and do all sorts of things that’ll have him squirming and trembling and begging at the top of his lungs for more. _More more more_.

“Uh, you okay, Steve?”

The hand on his knee is soft and warm. Even though Bucky’s touched him through a pair of pants. Steve lets out a rough breath. 

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” Bucky leans down a little so that he’s right in front of Steve’s face. Now Steve’s staring right into two deep oceans swirling with mystery and wonder. “Cause you look kinda sweaty. And your cheeks are all… red.”

Watching Bucky’s lips is distracting, but Steve manages to keep hold of himself. He nods and flicks his eyes back to Bucky’s. 

“What’re your limits?” he gets past tightly squeezed lungs. 

Bucky backs up. Looks surprised by the question. “My _limits_?”

“Yes. I wanna know them.”

“Why?” Bucky asks. “I… I mean, I’ll tell you, Sir. It’s just.” He gives Steve a look that Steve can only describe as sympathetic. “I really don’t think you’re gonna be doin’ anything to me that’s gonna reach _my_ limits.” 

Head tilting slightly, Steve tries to make sense of that comment. It’s the second time Bucky’s said something like that. First the inexperienced remark and now this. 

“Why do you think that?” Steve questions. “Are you suggesting I might not be a good enough Dominant?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. He immediately shakes his hands out in front of him, same as his head. 

“No! No, Steve, not at all!” Bucky slips down to his knees. Peers up at Steve in an entirely different way than when he was in such a position before. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sir. I’m sorry.”

Steve reaches down to cup Bucky’s chin. Bucky leans into the soft touch. It’s almost a nuzzle. A little kitten’s affection.

“Then what _did_ you mean, Bucky?”

“Nothing bad!” Bucky swears. “Just that… well, I mean, you’ve pretty much said yourself that _this_ is what you consider nice.” He looks back out at all the discreet but sensual activities going on. “And _I_ really love it too. It’s just… there’re those _other_ things that go _way_ beyond this end of the spectrum.”

Just looking at him, Steve gives himself a minute or two to absorb everything that Bucky’s assumed about him. To be fair, it does make sense. So far, all Steve’s shown any interest in _is_ on this end of the spectrum. There really wouldn’t be any reason for Bucky to think he might even wade around in the other end let alone swim. 

“So, what you’re saying,” Steve remarks as he leans down closer Bucky, “is you that don’t think I’d be able to Dominate _you_.” 

Being so close like this, Steve can almost see Bucky’s pupils dilate. His breath catches when that soft touch under his chin becomes firm and demanding. 

“I…” Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t get me _wrong_ , Sir, you’re gonna make a great Gentle Dom for someone one day and th-that person is gonna be really lucky and I just--”

“Just _what_ , Bucky?”

Bucky’s mouth opens a few times. Nothing but air comes out as he searches for the words that never come.

“I… I don’t…” he stammers. “I, um…”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

Every dominant bone in Steve’s body is pulsing right now. The utter desire to prove just how _wrong_ Bucky tears through him. To just show him his kind of Dominance. _Claim_ Bucky as _his_ the way he clearly enjoys. 

Muscles curling hot, Steve sucks in a deep breath and pushes off the stool. He towers over Bucky this way. Bucky. Who peers up at him with wide, confused eyes. 

“Steve--”

“Mm-mm.” Steve puts his index finger against his lips to keep him quiet. “Get on your feet, Bucky.” 

“But I--”

“Get. On. Your. _Feet_. Bucky,” Steve growls through clenched teeth. “ _Now_.” 

Bucky’s scrambling to do just that before Steve’s finished giving the order for a second time. He’s on his feet in seconds. Hands behind his back and shoulders straight and chin up. Very traditional sub position, even though Steve didn’t ask for that specifically. 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “S-Sir, please, lemme explain…”

“No, no, no.” Steve shakes his head and quickly loops his finger through the ring of Bucky’s collar. Brings Bucky in so close he can feel their breaths mixing. “We’re _done_ with that.” 

Without another word, Steve turns and guides Bucky by the collar to the elevators that will take them to the lower levels of The Armory. His sudden haste is enough to make Bucky stumble slightly when they start though he catches his balance quickly. Steve just tugs him along and keeps his fingers gripped through Bucky’s collar as they enter the empty elevator together where Steve enters his personal code that will allow him access to the rest of levels in The Armory that he’s allowed to visit. 

Which happens to be all of them. Top to bottom. Every one of them because Steve’s knowledge, experience, and skill level grants him that.

“ _Oh god_ ,” Bucky whimpers as the doors close and the elevator starts. “You can… go to the dungeon?”

First tightening his grip around Bucky’s collar, Steve makes a point to not look at him. 

“Well _you’re_ so smart,” he answers. “What do _you_ think?” 

“I… S-Sir, I--”

“The only things I want to hear from you right now are the answers to my questions and ‘yes Sir’ or ‘no Sir’. Understand?”

“Yes,” Bucky whispers. “Yes, Sir.” 

The only thing Steve is interested in during the ride down -- passing by the levels set up for roleplay, for naked wrestling, for the illusion of being out in public and more -- is Bucky’s limits. Steve commits them all to memory. There isn’t much that Steve really needs to worry about. Not here anyway. Nothing Bucky’s mentioned is running through Steve’s head, but his body is beginning to burn with white, hot fire. Flames crackling through his muscles with every soft noise and tiny shudder Bucky makes. 

By the time the elevator brings them to the lowest level, to the dungeon, Steve still hasn’t even so much as glanced at Bucky. That doesn’t mean he can’t tell he’s all riled up. Bucky shifts about. Keeps trying to lower his chin but can’t since Steve won’t let him. Whimpers every now and then, possibly for attention, and receives none. 

Not until Steve gives him a tug by the collar. It’s just hard enough to possibly startle him, but Steve turns at the same time, placing his other hand on Bucky’s hip. He doesn’t say anything. All Steve does is look at him. At his eyes -- so foggy and heated. His lips -- plush and sinfully red. The tough, black leather hugging soft, delicate skin already dotted with beads of sweat. That shirt -- teasing Steve all night long with its plunging neckline and sheer fabric showing hints of what’s underneath. And, of course, the tenting in his pants. 

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches when Bucky opens his but snaps it closed before anything comes out. Remembering what Steve’s said about Bucky and talking, he thinks. 

“Come on,” Steve says. Bucky’s eyes glaze. “Let’s see if I’m _good_ enough for this little sub.” 

Steve leads Bucky the rest of the way. Down the curved, stone corridors. Not real stone, most likely, but realistic enough that Steve can’t tell the difference. He needs to re-enter his code when they reach the doors, but when they open to the dungeon, every dominant instinct in Steve has snakes through his body. 

This is not the place for idle chitchat and cozy get to know yous. There’s no casual drinks or picking at food. Gone is any idea of discretion. 

All of that has been replaced with subs on their knees or bent over a bench or strapped to a cross. The air is saturated with moans and sobs and yells. Leather paddles and floggers and whips strike against flesh. There’s begging. There’s pleading. There’s whimpering, whining, groaning. 

Pure, adulterated kink and sex. 

Everywhere. 

There’re people that are simply watching quietly -- some excusing themselves from a station about to be cleaned and sanitized now that a scene has ended. It’d be rude to be disruptive during a scene, so Steve looks around for a relatively empty spot and actually finds one in the far end of the room that suits his needs perfectly. 

Every station comes with the same basic toys -- vibrators, dildos, plugs -- and safety needs like lube and condoms. They all have the same whips and floggers and paddles in all the same lengths and shapes and sizes. All of them are stocked with various tools used for bondage. Steve excels in ropes and knots, but he’ll save those for later. Private. More intimacy. For now, he’ll use the handcuffs he’s sure he’ll find over there. And the linked chain hanging overhead. 

It’s the devices that are different. The furniture and larger pieces. In some spots there’re Saint Andrew’s Crosses being used and in others subs are tied to racks. 

The station Steve is leading Bucky to has a spanking bench that he can’t wait to get him bent over. It's perfect.

“Wait here,” Steve orders as he let's go of Bucky’s collar for the first time since taking hold of it. A moment of absence passes. His fingers missing that grip, his body missing the closeness.

Steve steps up onto the small platform that will separate the scene from everyone else. Small enough not to be considered a stage, but definitely not a part of the even stone floor. He walks straight to the small, rusted cages set up to look as though it holds some torture devices that are actually storing bondage supplies.

Handcuffs are easy to find. Steve grabs them and heads back to Bucky, who, for the first time, looks back at him timid and nervous and shy. None of what Steve has planned was brought up in Bucky’s limits. Not even the idea of having people watch. _I’ve been through all the levels,_ Bucky had said. Which must include this one. Bucky said nothing about not wanting an audience. Still, Steve feels a second thought or two creeping in and wants to double check to make sure this is still okay without letting their roles shift. 

“Stage fright?” he murmurs. Eyes dropping, Bucky tugs at his pants and shifts uncomfortably. He shakes his head, but shrugs as well. “That’s not how you answer me.”

Bucky whimpers. “N-no, Sir. It’s just… when there’re people around and I don’t notice them watching me, it’s nothing…” He peers back up at Steve. “But when I _do_ notice, I get all…” His face flushes such a deep crimson, it trickles down to his chest. “And it makes me even more…”

 _Ah_. Okay. Steve smirks. A bit of a humiliation kink for exhibitionism then. Steve can work with that. He can _definitely_ work with that. 

Here’s Bucky, the boy who struck up a conversation that started off with him being bold and brash and irritating, and is now admitting that he’s got something of a humiliation kink. That being up and exposed in front of people is enough to get that. 

Funny enough, as awkward and as anxious as Steve can get during a one on one interaction, being up in front of people for a scene doesn’t bother him. He’s comfortable in his skin here. Comfortable in his role and his knowledge and his skill. He’s done demonstrations and classes and public scenes. 

And Steve plans on doing another with Bucky now.

He shows Bucky the handcuffs he’s brought over with him and, folding his lips in, Bucky holds his hand out, wrists together. Steve chuckles, but shakes his head. Bucky gets the idea immediately and whimpers. He turns around to bring his arms behind him. Steve pulls them back the rest of the way. Puts just enough strain on them that Bucky hisses a little as Steve cuffs him. 

Taking hold of the links between the cuffs, Steve guides Bucky to one corner of the platform and forces him to sit down. The placement will make it nearly impossible for Bucky to see what Steve’s doing beyond a glimpse here and there over his shoulder. Steve crouches down. Puts his lips right at Bucky’s ear.

“ _You_ don’t move.” He runs a hand over Bucky’s head, fingers combing through his hair then knotting through so he can give it a tug back and run his eyes over Bucky’s throat. Exposed just for him. “I’m gonna get things _all_ ready for you.” 

Steve gives Bucky’s head a little push forward and then moves away from him to do just that. It doesn’t take too much time. In fact, Steve focuses more of his attention on making sure things will safe for them rather than the toys and tools he’ll be using. Even though he knows proper safety measures have been taken, he still likes to go through them. 

While he does that, people begin to notice that another scene is being set up and start to meander over. The more people that come, the more Bucky tries to hide into his shoulders. Steve smirks and goes back to finishing up what he’s doing. 

Once he’s finished, Steve goes back to Bucky and slips a hand over his shoulder. The contact makes him wince and shudder all at once, and when he realizes it’s only Steve, he peers up at him through a curtain of hair and tries to give him a pout. 

“You’ve drawn in quite an audience, little sub,” Steve murmurs. “And now I’m gonna make _sure_ you give ‘em a good show.” 

Steve hoists him back to his feet the way only a cop can. It pulls a startled gasp from Bucky and no matter how professional Steve is, Bucky still wobbles a bit on his feet until Steve helps him catch his balance. Steve can’t really lie either. He likes Bucky this way. Maybe it’s the Dominant in him, but having Bucky need his help in something as simple as standing shoots through his body, mind, and soul. All of it ends up running straight into his cock, filling quick and hard between his legs. 

“First things first.” Steve unbuttons Bucky’s pants, more easily than he thought he could, which has a sigh of relief breathing through him, and ever so slowly draws the zipper down. “Let’s take care of these, shall we?”

With Bucky’s hands still cuffed behind his back, Steve shoves Bucky’s pants down to his ankles. The lacey black panties trying desperately to hold in Bucky’s erection are not something Steve expected. They are, however, beautiful. Steve rises up slowly and snaps the hem of them against Bucky’s sweet, delicate hip. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Steve says and Bucky blushes harder now than ever. Steve traces his index finger over the top of them again and lets it slip just inside. “It’s almost a shame to have to get rid of them. But…”

Just like with Bucky’s pants, Steve lowers the panties down to his ankles. Unlike with the pants, Steve takes his time. Let's Bucky sweat it out a bit until his swollen cock, irritated by the rough denim of the pants Steve just rid him of, finally springs free.

“There you go,” Steve murmurs. “I bet that feels good.” 

“Yes,” Bucky groans. “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

“Standard stoplights, Bucky,” Steve tells him as he brings him over to the spanking bench. “Peace sign or hum the national anthem if your mouth is full.” 

Bucky nods and doesn’t need Steve to explain what he’s talking about. He already gets that Steve is giving him safewords and signals without breaking the illusion for their spectators. 

At the spanking bench now, Steve is able to pick Bucky up to lay him over it. Bucky groans at the manhandling. Even more so when Steve spreads his legs over each of the leather bound leg rests. There’re straps meant for keeping Bucky’s thighs against the frame -- which Steve intends to use -- but first he unlocks the cuffs so that he can strap Bucky’s forearms to the arm rests. 

The first piece of equipment that Steve grabs is the ball gag. 

“ _You_ were talking an _awful_ lot about things you didn’t know before, little sub,” Steve scolds. “I think we’re gonna make sure you _can’t_ say anything for a while. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

First squeezing his eyes closed, Bucky sniffles. A shiver runs through his skin as he nods. 

“Yes, Sir,” he whines. “It’s a good idea.”

“Good. Open up then.”

Lip trembling, Bucky opens his mouth wide for Steve so that he can put the ball gag in and strap it behind his head. 

Once Steve’s done, he steps back to admire his work. Not to pat himself on the back or anything, but Bucky is simply breathtaking. All strapped to the leather spanking bench. Gagged. Pants and panties pulled down to his ankles and shirt still on. There’s something deliciously beautiful about that. About having him still half dressed. A sense of social taboo even in a place like this. 

Bucky’s hair hangs in front of his face. There’s just enough space on the bench for him to press his nose against it. Hiding. Steve allows it for now.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Steve tells him. “You’re going to be spanked, little sub. With different things. You won’t know what. You won’t know when I’m going to switch or if I’m even going to switch back. But I will tell you that I’m going to start off like this.” 

Steve gives Bucky no other warning than that and just slaps a hand over his ass. No warm up. No preamble. Just a swift, hard slap that cracks right across Bucky’s ass and makes him jerk against his restraints with a loud, gargled yelp. 

Fire crackles across Steve’s palm. It burns all the way to the pit of his stomach and right into his cock, having Bucky react to his very first touch like that. His lungs heat up. He _needs_ to do it again.

First things first.

Steve gives Bucky about thirty seconds to settle from that one. He waits to see if it was too much before doing it again. All Bucky does is catch his breath. Clench his fists. Wait. 

Steve grins. As much as he longs to spank him again _right now_ , Steve knows that anticipation can be just as torturous as knowing when it’s coming. So he trails his fingers down Bucky’s spine. Just as he suspected, Bucky stiffens and whimpers. The sound has barely fallen from his lips when Steve slaps him again. Even with all the noises going on around the dungeon, Steve can hear the noise echo around them. 

The next one comes right after that. So do the following two. Steve hits both cheeks separately and then pauses to grab a bottle of lube behind him to add a bit more of a burn.

Every slap that Steve delivers is met with a grunt and struggling and squirming. Almost as though Bucky can’t handle them. He rubs his head against the bench and it sounds like he _might_ be pleading through the ball gag, but there’s no way Steve would ever be able to tell. All this from just a few slaps of Steve’s hand. 

To be fair, those few slaps turn into ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Leaving Bucky’s ass hot to the touch and bright pink, and has him wailing so much that Steve can see the drool already dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

Which makes Steve all the more excited to switch to the wooden paddle. Just before he does, Steve scratches his nails right across both of Bucky’s cheeks. They bite right into sensitive skin. Not hard enough to break through, but four rough, scarlet lines appear like rivers on two pink oceans. Bucky jerks up as far as the restraints will allow. The best, genuine reaction Steve’s gotten yet.

“ _Ooh_ ,” Steve coos as he rubs his hand soothingly down Bucky’s back. “That was a _good_ one, wasn’t it?” Even though Bucky’s still gagged, and Steve knows he can’t really answer, he walks around to the side anyway and flicks his ear. “I asked you a question, little sub. _Answer_ me.” 

Bucky blinks once. Twice. Mouth unable to form even the smallest of words as he struggles with how to handle this without making an even bigger mess of himself than he already is. If he tries to say anything, even more drool is just going to leak out all over his chin. 

When Steve gives him a decidedly dominant expression -- eyebrows lifted, lips set in a line -- Bucky whimpers and tries to give him what he wants. Tries very hard to be good by getting something that sounds like _yes, Sir_ and yet nothing like that at all. 

“Mm.” Steve pets a hand over his head. “You like that don’t you? Trying to be good for me?”

He gets a very enthusiastic nod at that and Bucky’s eyes roll back a bit when Steve rewards him with a slight fondle of his balls. When Bucky tries to get a little more, thrusting into Steve’s hand as best he can, Steve backs away, picks up the paddle and takes his first swing with it. 

The paddle isn’t very big. Maybe about the size of Steve’s hand and he doesn’t even strike Bucky as hard with it as he did with his palm. Bucky’s reactions are just as amazing, if not better. His ass is already so sensitive after Steve’s palm that his skin is starting to bruise slightly. Small patches of pale purple marks that slowly begin to appear like lilacs growing in a burning meadow. 

The idea of Bucky leaving here with his marks on him drives Steve wild with the need to mark him elsewhere. His neck maybe. Later.

It might be the few light taps to his testicles between every few hits, but Bucky is slamming his fists down into the arm rests. Well, as best he can while being strapped down. It’s simply adorable to watch him struggle.

The cane is what makes Bucky really start to cry. There’d been some tears before that. A few drops that would slide down his cheeks and then stop when Steve would pause for a few seconds for a fondle or a pet or just to watch him squirm. But the cane gets an ugly cry going. 

No safeword though. No signal or humming or any other indication that Steve should stop, not even when he crouches in front of him and looks into those deep as ocean eyes, all filled with tears, and still finds no reason. 

The strokes of the cane still make his little sub bawl though. Fat, ugly tears that mix with snot and drool as the cane naturally flicks off his backside with every one of Steve’s backhanded strokes. Light. 

There’s no reason to swing a cane around hard, and anyone that does _shouldn’t_ be using one. A very light grip and simple flick of the wrist is quite enough to cause welts and two _very_ different types of stings -- the initial one and then the searing pain the radiates from the welt spreading. 

After ten strokes, Bucky’s shaking, and his ass is just so damn pretty that Steve doesn’t feel the need to go on any longer with it. Oh, he _could_. If this was different. 

If Bucky was really going to be his for more than just tonight and this was their bedroom and this whole thing wasn’t an illusion to cover up the fact that it’s really a one-night-stand, Steve could do this for _hours_. But he’ll stop for now. And commit this artwork to memory.

The deep shade of red. The scratches from his fingernails. The slight shades of bruising on either cheek. The welts that go evenly across both. 

Stunning. Just stunning. 

“Look at this.” 

Steve rubs his hand across Bucky’s bottom. It’s just as hot as he figured, and when his palm touches him, Bucky jumps as though expecting another slap. 

“Aw.” Steve snickers. Walks around by Bucky’s hips and gathers up his sub’s hair to yank his head up. “Aren’t you so precious.” 

He’s got his eyes squeezed shut again, Steve’s sure of that much, and he knows why. While all the lights around them are strategically placed to drape over them and box them in their own world, Steve can still make out the sea of shadows that have gathered around to watch. It’s quite the crowd of dark silhouettes out there. 

Bucky knowing they’re out there is one thing. Bucky being forced to look at them is different. 

“Open your eyes,” Steve growls. “Show them how you want to be good for me.” 

It takes a few seconds of struggling and a whole lot of whimpering, but Bucky -- drool, snot, tears and all -- pries his eyes open. Whatever he can make out through his tears and gasps for breaths gets him crying harder, but it also has him trying to grind against the bench. Useless of course since his dick and balls hit nothing but air, yet that doesn’t seem to deter him from at least needing to try. To find some sense of relief from the growing, maddening ache between his legs and the way Steve just made it worse by making him even more aware of his audience. 

Steve could ease some of that for him a little. Just a light touch. A nice, soothing stroke. He even thinks about it. About wrapping his hand around Bucky’s pretty cock. To feel it pulsing like a heartbeat in his palm. But he doesn’t. Not now. He’ll do that later. When it’s just the two of them. When Steve can claim Bucky in the whispered shadows of a private room they’ll share for a night. 

“You know I can control the lights here,” Steve tells him. He can. A few flicks of the right switches and all the lighting will be changed to his desired settings. “Should I turn a few off so you can see them all watching you? Watching how you’re _mine_? _All_ _mine_?”

Tear-filled eyes going wide, Bucky stares at him like he has no idea what to make of that. The gears in his mind are clearly trying to make sense of it after Steve’s done a good job of starting to turn them to mush. No subspace yet, Steve’s seen to it. Maybe a bit of drifting in and out, but not sinking. 

Bucky blinks and shakes his head. Tries to convey that _no, please, Sir, no_ , in one gesture. 

Though he expresses a no, Steve’s sure the decision is actually left up to him. Bucky doesn’t use any other means of signalling out of such a thing.

Still.

Smirking, Steve nods. “All right. I guess I can be nice.” 

Being nice also includes unbuckling the strap of the ball gag and letting it drop to the floor with a thud. The second it’s out, Bucky’s sobs are so much clearer. He’s panting and breathless and dripping with sweat. His face is still covered in drying tear tracks under his mask and leftover drool and whatever dripped from his nose. There’s not much he can do to clean himself up since he’s still strapped down, but he gives it a valiant effort. Such a sweet, little sub. 

“There, there.” Steve pats Bucky’s head as he works his jaw out and swallows and licks at his lips. “Now you can make all the noise you want.” 

Bucky’s breath catches. He sniffles and nods and manages a very shaky, “Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir,” before tears fill his eyes again.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Steve comforts while trailing his fingers down Bucky’s spin. He gives a gentle swat to the top of Bucky’s ass and Bucky releases a loud, unrestrained cry. “Try to keep still for a bit. I’ll make you feel a little better.” 

That bottle of lube is still on the ground right behind Bucky. Steve snatches it up and readies his hand. Gets it slick and messy, and starts teasing Bucky’s hole with his fingers.

“Please…” Bucky whimpers after a few minutes of Steve’s teasing. “Oh, please, _please_ , Sir…” 

“Hm?” Steve asks. “Something you want?”

Bucky sobs and nods his head against the bench. “Please… please, put it in me…”

“ _Oh_. You want my finger in your ass?”

The tip of Steve’s finger is sliding in as he says it, so Bucky yelps and nods and pounds his fists down.

“Oh, yes, _please_ , Sir... More. I’m beggin’ you, _more_!” 

“Such a needy boy.” Steve pushes in a little more. “Like that, little sub? Is that what you want?”

“Yes! Yes, yes… _mmm_ … yes… please…” 

Steve takes his time with him. Between the burning across Bucky’s ass and the stinging of Steve’s finger, the poor kid is squirming and sobbing and panting again in minutes. With just one finger. 

Two has him rearing back. As much as he’s able to anyway as he attempts to get further onto Steve’s fingers. Steve permits this for a moment or two, enjoying the thrill of watching Bucky trying so hard to get more when he can’t, before he starts to slide both fingers out.

“Cut that out,” he scolds. “ _I_ decide how much you get and when.”

Bucky whimpers and shudders. Holds very still and then nods. “Y-yes, Sir. M’sorry, Sir.”

Even though Bucky can’t see him, Steve smiles with a nod and pushes back in. Starts adding a third finger. The stretch makes him groan and shiver, and when Steve hooks and twists his fingers in _just_ the right way, Bucky cries out a needy, desperate abandon.

“Oh, _fuck_! Fuck! Sir! Oh, Sir, _please_!”

Steve does it again. And again and again until Bucky is trembling all over and thrashing his head and kicking his feet. He begs. For what, he never does say, though, Steve can venture a guess at what he’s after. All Bucky says is the word _please_ over and over, getting more and more intense each time. 

“Please what, little sub?” Steve asks. “I need you to be more specific.” 

“I… Sir… I wanna… _mmm_ … I wanna…”

“You wanna _what_?” Steve asks, and scissors his fingers at the same time. “ _What_ do you want?”

“To come!” Bucky screams. “I wanna come, Sir. I… _oh_ , I _need_ to come!”

“ _You_ need what I _say_ you need,” Steve growls as he pushes his fingers hard and fast enough that the slick, messy lubrication begins to make squishing noises. “And if I say you’ll wait then what’re you gonna do?”

Bucky howls his frustration instead of answering. His fingers claw at the leather under his hands as his toes curl tightly, and when he still doesn’t answer, Steve slaps his free hand over his ass. 

“ _Answer_ me, little sub,” Steve growls. “If I say you’ll wait then what.” Steve shoves his fingers in deeper. “Are.” Hooks them. “You.” Twists. “Gonna.” Drags them down again. “ _Do_?”

“Wait!” Bucky exclaims through tear-streaked shivers. “I’ll wait, Sir, I’ll wait! I just… _oh_ , it _hurts_ , Sir… I… I’m so _close_ …” 

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” Steve rubs his back, but doesn’t stop fingering him. Doesn’t stop his relentless torment when Bucky is so close to coming and hasn’t been given the permission. “But I said you can’t. And so you won’t. Because you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?”

Hands curling to fists, Bucky sucks in several deep breaths through tightly clenched teeth before nodding. 

“Yes,” he squeals. “Yes, Sir, yes. I do. I do.”

Slowing his hand just a little, Steve asks, “You do what, little sub?”

“Good. Boy.” Bucky whines and tries again. “For you, Sir. A good boy for you.” 

Close enough. 

Steve grins and places a comforting hand at the base of Bucky’s spine. He tells him to try to be as still as possible and then gradually slides his fingers back out. Bucky hisses and whines as they comes out. 

“Sh, sh,” he comforts. “It’s okay. I’m not through with you yet. Just sit tight.”

Not that he has much of a choice.

First quickly washing his hands at the small sink in the corner, Steve then unbuckles the straps holding Bucky in place on the bench. Slowly and carefully, sure to help him with balance and equilibrium, Steve brings Bucky to his feet again. Not to stand on his own, though. No, Steve has other plans. 

Which starts with getting Bucky completely naked. It isn’t all that hard, even with Bucky still shaky and out of breath. Although the shirt he’s been wearing all night hasn’t exactly left much up to the imagination, Steve feels ashamed at himself for not expecting just how beautiful Bucky is completely naked like this. Standing here with him on this platform in the dungeon. Rock hard cock aching between his legs. Ass glowing red and bitten with stripes up and down it. Lean muscles shining in perspiration. A work of art. 

Steve’s not positive if anything could make him more beautiful, but he sure is gonna try. 

So he straps a leather cuff to both of his wrists and attaches them to the chains hanging over head. As much as Steve loves working with ropes -- and he does, truly and honestly -- there’s something about chains that lights a fire under his skin. It’s the rattling, he thinks. Hearing them jingle around as his submissive moves about. His own cock gives a jump just thinking about it. 

Bucky goes willingly. Let’s himself be bound and chained with an almost dreamy smile on his face and fog rolling through his eyes. 

“Hey.” Steve snaps his fingers. “Stay with me, baby.”

He nods. Whispers, “I’m with you, Sir.”

“Good. You’re doing really well, but I don’t want you fading away on me yet, okay? So try to keep your head out of the clouds.”

Bucky chuckles. “This is a cloud free head, Sir. Sir?”

“Mhm?”

“Will you kiss me?”

In the middle of adjusting the chains, Steve freezes. It hasn’t escaped his attention that he hasn’t kissed Bucky, and it’s not that he doesn’t want to. Quite the contrary, in fact. He’s _dying_ to. Wants so badly to press his lips against those red, luscious ones of Bucky’s it hurts. But kissing is… 

Kissing is intimate. Kissing sparks and ignites and starts fires that aren’t easy to put out. 

This is a scene. Filled with emotions and endorphins and adrenaline. Just because Bucky wants a kiss now, doesn’t mean he’ll enjoy the memory of it later. After scene regret and a bad drop over a kiss is something Steve would very much like to avoid. 

But he is still a Dominant. Right now, he’s Bucky’s Dominant. He needs to give him an appropriate answer. 

Steve ghosts his lips across Bucky’s. Comes dangerously close to kissing him, but keeps manages to refrain. Even earns himself a little whimper from Bucky when he does. Despite being attached to the chains already -- arms pulled taut over his head and everything -- Bucky makes an attempt to steal a kiss anyway by moving forward. The chains, of course, only laugh and stop him. 

“You wanna kiss, little sub?” he asks. “Hm?”

He nods and tries to move again, only to be kept in place by the chains. Frustration crosses his face, and Bucky pants with a tiny kitten-like whine.

Wagging a finger at him, Steve runs it along Bucky’s bottom lip and allows him to suck on it since he knows he’s not going to be giving him that kiss. Steve adds two more fingers just seconds later, and it only makes Bucky suck more vigorously. 

“You like having something in your mouth, don’t you?” Bucky nods in answer, but those eyes of his still hold the same request, finger sucking be damned. “If you keep being a good boy, maybe you’ll get that kiss, okay?”

Face lighting up, Bucky nods and smiles around Steve’s fingers, and goes on sucking and sucking until Steve takes his fingers back, though Bucky, the sweet thing, does his very best to keep them in his mouth as long as possible. 

“You still wanna come, don’t you?” Steve asks when he whines at the emptiness of his mouth. 

The second Bucky’s reminded of his unrelieved cock, he glances down at it and then it must be all he can think of. He suddenly starts to squirm again. Thrust his hips into the nothingness that provides just that. Whines. Gives Steve the most pitiful expression. 

“Sir…”

“I thought so,” Steve says, and then pulls the chains so that they lift Bucky up to his toes. He’s still on the ground, but just barely. “There we go. Just where I want you.”

Bucky grunts, his feet stretched and face contorted, as Steve locks the chains in place. Behind him, Steve picks up two floggers. Dual flogging is an area of expertise for him, and though he plans on being a bit more gentle, that doesn’t mean he’s not going to give Bucky his best. 

Stepping back up to Bucky, Steve slowly lets the tresses of leather fall over his shoulder like long locks of hair. Now that he knows he’s about to be flogged, his head tilts back. Bucky takes a tight grip on the chains above him.

And Steve swings the first flogger. 

The strike to Bucky’s back makes him jerk and shudder and grunt. It’s not a hard one though. Steve’s already given him so much more with his palms alone.

He swings the next flogger and hits the opposite side. Steve gets pretty much the same reaction. 

“Good,” Steve praises. “Just like that, little sub.” 

Steve does the exactly same thing again. This time quicker between hits. He gives Bucky a few moments to settle again. Then two more strikes. Then another two. Quicker and quicker until the floggers are circling continuously. Two windmills of leather landing across Bucky’s skin and making him huff and grunt and pant. 

By the time the skin by his shoulder blades are as pink as his bottom, Steve starts to move around to Bucky’s front. Once again, tears leak from under the bottom of Bucky’s mask. It’s taking a lot of effort for the poor boy to stay still. Every now and then, he backs away, the impact of the floggers making it too difficult for him to stay where Steve put him. 

But all Steve ever has to do is guide him back and Bucky gets right into position again. 

That doesn’t stop him from teasing Bucky. From lighting dragging the tresses across his body and his swollen cock and then, with the other, striking again. Bucky groans and cries out every time. Sweat drips down Bucky’s trembling body. Between that and the lights over head, he’s practically glowing. 

“S-Sir…” Bucky’s shaking and alternating between trying to get more of the flogger and backing away from it. “P-please, Sir.” 

Steve doesn’t stop his flogging. “Yes, little sub?”

“I…” He groans when Steve intentionally lets the flogger snap a little harder. “Please… I… I wanna…”

“Are we gonna go through this again?”

Bucky damn near _wails_ at that. He starts to tug at the chains like he’s suddenly desperate to gain use of his hands again. Steve can only imagine he’s dying to get some friction on his poor, straining cock. It’s dripping like crazy and the only attention Steve’s given it is with a flogger. 

“You wanna come then, little sub?”

“Yes!” Bucky exclaims. “Oh, yes, _please_ , Sir!”

There’s more struggling as Bucky squirms and jerks about. The chains above him rattle like crazy. Bucky’s moans and groans and tears are about all Steve can take. Bucky’s entire body is shaking. Though he hasn’t said red or yellow or made any other indication that Steve should stop the scene, Steve knows when enough might be enough. 

Still swinging the floggers, Steve says, “I’m gonna count to three. On _three_ you can come. Not before. Not after. Can you do that?”

“Yes!” Bucky’s nodding. Over and over. “Yes, yes. I can do that, Sir, I can.”

“All right then.” 

Steve’s entire body tightens. If Bucky can really come for him on command… there’s no other feeling like that. Than watching him come undone in a blissfully wrecked place of sensual pleasure because of everything Steve’s done. 

Sometimes fantasies can be real. 

Steve takes in a deep breath. He’s dizzy and trembling with anticipation -- the world shrinking to just him and Bucky and two floggers.

“One,” he says. Bucky closes his eyes. “Two.” Bucky’s mouth falls open with a whimper. “... _Three._ ”

The floggers fall from Steve’s hands so that he can hold onto Bucky’s body while it arches back. He wraps his hand around that long, thick cock and pumps, adding to the pleasure Bucky so longed for. A scream is wretched from Bucky’s lungs as white streaks along Steve’s fingers. 

It’s a sight to behold. Beautiful. Just like every other thing Bucky’s done tonight, losing himself to the sweet surrender of relief is no different. And the fact that Steve got him to such a state makes it all the more beautiful.

Apparently, Steve is not the only one who thinks so either. As soon as he’s finished coming, those people watching break out into a round of applause. Loud. Thunderous, even. 

“You hear that?” Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear as he works on getting him down from the chains while keeping one arm wrapped around him. “You put on such a good show for them. What a good boy you are, little sub.”

There’s still a deep, dark flush to Bucky’s skin and he hasn’t quite caught his breath yet, but he’s still aware enough to know what Steve’s just said to him. Bucky folds his lips in and tries to hide under the crook of Steve’s arm. Steve chuckles and, okay, it’s not the kiss Bucky asked for, he presses his lips to the top of his head. 

“Okay, here we go,” Steve says and gently brings him to his knees. Once he’s there, Bucky peers up at him with big, round eyes. “You didn’t think I could do that, did you?” he asks with a soft pet to his head. Pushing his bottom lip out, Bucky shakes his head. Steve grins. “Well, now you know better. And now…”

Steve reaches behind him to grab what he needs. Things he had all set up already. He cleans Bucky and himself up with warmed wipes and then wraps a big, soft blanket around Bucky. There’s a bathroom back in his private suite. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t mind allowing him to run a bath so he can clean him properly. 

First things first, Steve needs to get him back there. 

A few people have come over to politely tell him how well he did. How they enjoyed watching the scene. They congratulate him on his skill level and ask if he comes often. They compliment him on finding such a lovely, well-behaved sub, and Steve wonders if they think Bucky’s his outside of The Armory. 

There’s a lady talking to him right now that makes him think that even more. She keeps on saying how well they work together and how long it must’ve taken for Steve to train him to be so obedient and talented. As if they’ve been together for years. 

“Thank you,” Steve says one more time. “If you’ll excuse us now, I’d like to take care of him now.”

Without another word -- though they all seem to understand his urgency to leave now -- Steve scoops Bucky up into his arms. The act must startle Bucky. He gasps and jumps a little, even all snuggled in the blanket.

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs as he carries him to the elevator. “I didn’t expect people to be swarming us like that. Does that usually happen?”

Bucky still looks a little startled. “N-no. Not… no.”

“Right.” Then why now? Steve just shakes his head. He smiles at Bucky. “Rest, okay? I’ve got you.”

“You… but… but I…”

The elevator door opens. They’re lucky, once again, to be the only ones on it. Steve’s glad for more than one reason. One, he’d just like to be alone with Bucky. Two, the strange, unnerved look on Bucky’s face. 

He looks tense. Almost like he’s fighting to stay awake or trying to pry a nightmare out of his mind. It occurs to Steve then that Bucky might be clinging onto a state of mind that his body currently can’t handle. He’s awake and aware, but maybe he needs to drift into subspace and is fighting back. Sure, Steve told him to hold off a bit before, but he certainly didn’t mean now.

“Hey,” Steve sooths. “It’s okay, Bucky. Let go. You’re safe with me. I promise.”

For just a heartbeat, Steve thinks maybe he got it wrong. All Bucky does is stare at him. Wide-eyed. But then all the tension melts away. A fog rolls through his eyes just before he closes them and Bucky rests his head against Steve’s chest.

“Thank you, Sir,” he whispers. Barely. Steve’s pretty sure he’s asleep before he finishes his sentence. 

A smile curls up on Steve’s lips. One he never thought possible. He never wants to let Bucky go. No one has ever made him feel this way. This needed. This important. 

It’s almost as though Steve’s been asleep his whole life and has only now woken. Dawn bursts through him. Bright and warm and bringing with it everything that Steve’s missed. He breathes in for the first time and with it is Bucky. 

Something right. Something beautiful. 

Something Steve doesn’t know how to keep and wants to hold onto forever. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> The amazing, wonderful art that inspired this. I can't even believe the talent here and just how pretty this is! Kudos to my lovely artist!


	2. Chapter 2

There’s… glitter. Pretty sprinkles of twinkling light that showers down all around him. Touches his skin in soft, precious tickles. A good place to be. Warm. Safe. 

There’s… sun. Or something akin to sunlight. A bright glow around him that tucks him in like a sweet, summer’s blanket. Familiar. Right. 

There’s… pink. A strange sensation, but one that’s his and he’ll take it because he’s allowed to have that. It billows through his entire body. New. Perfect. 

There’s a voice. A voice that adds to the glitter and brightens the sun and makes the pink glow. A heartbeat sings in his ear beneath a warm chest that rises and falls in calm, soothing rhythm. 

Bucky starts to open his eyes as the world reshapes around him. The arms around him hold him close. Secure. As though letting him go right now would be the worst thing in the world. His bottom stings like crazy, not in a bad way really, but he’s not exactly positioned on it anyway, so that’s good. Bucky’s entire body is tingling as he comes back to himself. 

He’s not… quite sure where he is at the moment. The last thing he can remember clearly is…

“...such a good boy, little sub,” the voice is saying. Soft. Sweet. “You did so well for me.”

The breath in his lungs freezes as the night begins to come back to him. Bucky knows that voice. Steve. The dungeon. That’s right. Did he… did Steve really get him that deep into subspace? 

No one’s ever been able to push him under like that. Not _here_ anyway. Even if Bucky did allow himself to sink at all, it’s alway been with one hand holding on tightly to shore. Yet, here he is, in The Armory, waking up from subspace in a Dom’s arms. He must be a bigger sucker than he thought. 

“Hey.” It’s just a whisper in his ear. Steve must not be sure if he’s fully awake or not. “Bucky. You with me?”

It’s a bit of a pivotal moment. Bucky could pretend he’s not. If he does, it’ll probably be the deciding factor on how the rest of this night will play out for them. One lie is really all it’ll take. He’ll fake his way through it like he usually does here. Like he does at the end of all his failed relationships. 

All he has to do is not move. Not answer. Slowly close his eyes again and Steve would most likely be none the wiser. 

Instead of doing any of that, Bucky finds himself tilting his chin up so he can look at him. At the Dom that so easily sent him into subspace and took care of him after Bucky’d been, well, as he put it earlier, a dick to him. 

Steve’s still wearing his mask. Of course he is. Most guests don’t take them off if they choose to wear them and Bucky’s not allowed to. The custom fit is the only reason they ever stay on.

“Hi,” Bucky whispers with this silly grin pulling up on his mouth, and what the _hell_ was that? _Hi_? “I mean… um…”

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks. Without so much as one word about Bucky’s ridiculous greeting. “Are you warm enough?”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“Is this blanket enough for you or do you need something more?”

Blanket?

Lifting his head away from Steve’s chest -- only a little bit since, for some reason, the thought of moving any further than that makes Bucky’s belly twist -- he looks at himself and sees he really is wrapped in a blanket. Wrapped in a blanket and tucked in Steve’s arms. On Steve’s lap. Where, specifically, he’s actually still not sure. It’s awfully quiet for The Armory.

“Bucky?”

“Yes.” He shakes his head. Tries for thoughts and words that a normal person might use. “I mean, yeah, the blanket’s fine.” 

It’s very nice being in Steve’s arms, too, but Bucky keeps that part to himself. 

“Can you sit up?” Steve asks next. And, yes, Bucky can, he just very much doesn’t want to at the moment, so he shakes his head. Steve chuckles. “Okay. Stay still, but I want you to eat something. Here.”

There’s a cookie at Bucky’s lips. Oatmeal. He makes a face, but nibbles at it anyway. His Dominant is feeding him and whether or not he prefers chocolate chip over oatmeal doesn’t really matter. He still smiles and snuggles in closer to Steve. 

Bucky gets water, too. Also given to him by Steve. Each sip decided when and how much by him, and either Steve is the best Dom in existence or completely oblivious to what he’s doing right now, because even coming down from subspace Bucky feels all the colors of the rainbow streaming through him at once. 

Bucky decides it must be the former when Steve starts petting a hand over his head and down to his neck. Makes him want to purr. This was the guy he practically mocked before and now he’s turning to a puddle on his lap. Way to go, Buck. Way to go. 

They sit in silence while Steve feeds him the cookie. Two of them actually, the second one being Bucky’s coveted chocolate chip. When both are done and Steve apparently feels Bucky’s had enough water, he adjusts their positions so that they’re seated up more. Bucky has to fight with himself not to pout. He wants to keep cuddling so bad there’s an actual ache in the pit of his stomach. 

_Get a grip, Barnes_ , he thinks. _This is_ always _how it starts_.

Always. 

Like he told Steve before, whenever some tough looking goon starts paying him attention, Bucky just falls for it. Head over heels. Whether it’s a case of Bucky thinking he can save the troubled guy or wanting to feel cherished and safe or some other stupid reason. It always ends the same way. 

Disappointment. Heartache. Regret.

And yet, for some reason, Bucky finds himself doing it all over again a few weeks or months later anyway. 

Just because _this_ big, muscular guy that’s paying attention to him happens to not resemble the assholes that Bucky’s ended up falling for in the past, doesn’t mean Steve’s any different. Sure, he might act wholesome and, yeah, he’s got the virtuous thing down, but, deep inside, Bucky’s willing to bet he’s just like all the others.

Probably a dick of a Dom, too. Expects a service sub and a sexual sub and a sensual sub all in one neat package of a mild-mannered, tame little thing. 

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks. “Are you sore?”

“Course I am,” Bucky grumbles. “You did a fuckin’ number on me.”

Underneath him, Bucky can feel the way Steve tenses at the harshness of his voice, quiet as it was, and shit. Shit, that is _not_ the way to treat a guest. More importantly, Steve, technically, still is his Dom. A verbal contract that doesn’t end until dawn. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t--”

“Did I…” Steve whispers. “You gave me all your limits. Nothing was… I mean, I didn’t… and you didn’t safeword or anything and I checked in.”

“I _know_ ,” Bucky growls. “You don’t _need_ to tell me what _I_ did wrong, _Sir_.” 

He delivers the sir with a sharp tip of a blade. It’s meant to hurt and it must since Steve winces. They both know the truth. Contract or not, this is just an act. 

“Bucky--”

Not letting Steve finish with whatever ridiculous cliche he probably wants to throw at him now, Bucky leaps out of his lap. It’s not the brightest of ideas he’s had tonight since his legs still feel a bit like jelly and he’s wobbly enough that he needs to grab hold of the vanity he’s ended up next to. 

A vanity?

Once Bucky manages to fully gain his balance, he glances around the room and for the first time actually puts together that they’re in a private suite. He also realizes, with a flush of embarrassment which unfortunately makes his cock twitch, that he’s naked under the blanket he’s been wrapped up in. Bucky grabs it to keep it from falling all the way. Which is probably ridiculous considering Steve’s seem him more naked than just physically naked.

“Did you _carry_ me back here?” he asks as he pulls the blanket tightly around him. “All the way up from the dungeon?”

Steve looks at him like he doesn’t understand the question, and for a second, Bucky even doubts his assumption. Maybe he walked with him and just doesn’t remember. But then Steve’s entire face turns red.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Steve is talking to his lap. “Leave you down there?”

For a few seconds, Bucky just watches as Steve shifts in the armchair that, up till a few moments ago, had been holding the both of them. He must understand Bucky’s shock. Sure, there’re elevators, but this is the top floor. Unless Steve put him on the floor of the elevator -- which Bucky seriously doubts -- that means he held him the whole way up and then carried him to the room. 

“You could’ve just waited,” Bucky mumbles. “Like all the other Doms.”

“Bucky.” And here it is. The _I’m not like other Doms_ comment. “Please, come back over here.”

His voice. It just melts right over Bucky like droplets of sun that fall right from the sky. Steve sounds so sincere. So concerned. And what’s worse, he didn’t say or act how Bucky assumed. Every voice in his head is shouting something different. Bucky doesn’t know which to listen to.

“ _Why_?”

“Because,” Steve answer without missing a beat, “I think you’re dropping.” 

Bucky’s first thought is to be offended. Subdrop? The fact that Steve would even suggest such a thing is downright insulting. Dropping? Because of a total stranger?

“Fuck you, Steve,” Bucky snaps. “Why would I be dropping? I don’t even _know_ you.” 

“Yes, I know that, Bucky, and I understand, but you’re shaking and you’re yelling and you’re crying.” 

No. No way. Bucky’s not doing any of that. His voice might be raised a little, but that’s hardly yelling. And it’s not his fault if he’s cold or something. They should raise the temperature in here. As for crying, Steve must be out of his freaking mind. Bucky wipes at his eyes. Carefully dabbing through the mask and finding his fingers… moist. 

“What the hell?” he whispers. 

This doesn’t make any sense. None at all. Bucky’s been a sub of The Armory for _years_ now and he’s _never_ dropped. Not once. 

In fact, he hasn’t gone through subdrop in years. He’s had to train himself not to. With all the Doms he’s been contracted with over the years not caring one way or the other about subdrop, Bucky’s pretty much had to. It wasn’t like any of them were going to hold him through it. Comfort him and tell him he was needed and important. There was no one to make him feel cherished when he needed it the most. So Bucky taught himself to suck it all up and work through it until it just stopped happening altogether. It was just easier that way.

Maybe his friends were right. They all told him it was too soon to do this. 

_Your contract ended less than a week ago_ , Clint had said. _Give it some time_.

 _You need to let your emotions settle, James_ , Natasha agreed. _Why are you rushing_?

Because after living with this past Dom for four months and suddenly having to move back into the apartment above Clint’s place, Bucky’s conventional job didn’t pay enough to cover the rent. Sure, he’d wait for the money, and of course, he’d lower the rent for him as always, but Bucky wasn’t gonna do that. Clint and his wife, Laura, have three children to feed and a mortgage to pay and lives to live. Bucky’s well aware that they keep that apartment vacant for him to return to. No matter what excuse they give to him.

But if even Natasha couldn’t manage to convince Bucky not to go, then no one would. Maybe if she still lived here and not in D.C. with her wife and sub -- switch, really -- Sharon, she’d’ve probably found a way to keep him from going, but the dozen texts and half a dozen voicemails expressing her deepest concerns just weren’t enough. 

Instead, here he is. About to have a nervous breakdown in a private suite of The Armory. 

“Hey.” There’s that _fucking_ voice of Steve’s again. So warm and soft and caring. “It’s okay, Bucky.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. A tremble rocks through his body as he fights back shiver after shiver. “No, it’s not. I don’t even know you.”

“I know that, but this happens,” Steve says. “It can happen to anyone.”

When Steve touches his shoulder -- really, Bucky hadn’t even noticed just how close he was until he’s touched -- Bucky jerks away. 

“No! Not to me!” Bucky shouts. “It doesn’t happen to me! It can’t happen to me!”

“Why?” Steve asks, gently. Even though Bucky is yelling at him and he’s his Dom. “Why can’t it happen to you?”

“It just… it just _can’t_ , okay?” Bucky hangs onto the blanket with his left hand and tugs at his hair with the right. “I just…” He huffs and stomps a foot down. “What does it matter anyway? Why do you even _care_? You wouldn’t even _kiss_ me!” 

When Bucky hears the words he’s saying his guts being to twist and churn. As soon as they’re out, Steve’s face falls.

“Wait, Bucky, I…” He comes closer. Very slowly. Like he’s worried Bucky might explode if he moves any quicker. “Do you still _want_ me to?”

“I…”

There’s no way for Bucky to answer that. The fact that he can even remember such a small detail of such an amazing scene makes no sense at all. And yet the fact that Steve didn’t kiss him after he said he would if Bucky was good is just driving him crazy. 

The thing is, Steve did the right thing by _not_ kissing him. Kissing is personal. An intimate craving that Bucky only asked for in a moment of heightened endorphins and adrenaline. An inexperienced Dom wouldn’t’ve known any better. An asshole Dom would’ve kissed him just to fuck with his emotions. An average Dom may have not known what to do. 

Not Steve. Steve is an amazing Dominant. Bucky couldn’t really see that before. Back in the Grand Hall and in the Parlor. He thought Steve was a beginner. From the first moment he laid eyes on him sitting there alone at the bar. But he was wrong. Steve is far from a beginner. Steve handled everything just fine, did exactly the right thing, and now Bucky is completely breaking down because of it. 

“Bucky,” Steve says softly. “Please.” He touches Bucky’s cheek and it takes all that Bucky has not to crumble into an emotional mess at his feet. “Lemme take care of you.”

Steve opens his arms. The invitation is much too tempting for Bucky to resist and, without a second thought, he’s falling into his Dominant’s embrace. Clinging onto Steve’s shirt, Bucky bursts into tears. Strong, warm arms wrap around him and gently rock him back and forth. 

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve comforts. “Just let it out. It’s okay. You’re okay, little sub. I have you.”

That’s all it takes to make Bucky cry even more. He doesn’t know why, but then, he’s brain isn’t really making much sense right now. So he just does what Steve says. He is his Dom after all. Bucky just lets himself go again. Lets the tears come down like rain to leave roses behind. 

Somehow, at some point, Steve ends up bringing him to the bed. Bucky has no idea how that happened, but he’s on his lap again as wave after wave just washes over him. Bucky shakes because he’s cold and shakes because he’s an emotional wreck and just shakes. He keeps on crying and heaving in big gulps of oxygen until he just can’t anymore.

Going limp over Steve’s body, Bucky has no choice but to let those amazing hands run over his body. It’s nice. A part of him wishes it wasn’t. He doesn’t want to leave here wanting more. It’s never happened before. But then, a lot of things are happening with Steve that’ve never happened before. In just one night. 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers a long while later. 

Steve hasn’t made any attempt to make him move. Hasn’t scolded him or made him feel wrong in any way. He’s just… held him. Whispered sweet words of praise and encouragement that’ve sunk as deep as they will into Bucky’s soul. Enough, anyway, to pull him out of such a bad drop. _You're okay, Bucky_ he says. _You're so good for me, little sub._ There's been petting and hugs and snuggles. More cookies and water. Nothing that would indicate Steve is annoyed by any way Bucky's reacted.

“Hm?” Steve answers. “I’m here, Buck.”

Bucky nods and looks up. “Can I… still have that kiss?”

Probably not the best of requests. He can see it on Steve’s face. The uncertainty and doubt. But Bucky knows he wants it. True, it might be emotions flying high and hard through his body, but this is one Dom that he _needs_ to steal that kiss from. 

“I dunno, Bucky,” Steve says. “That might not--”

“Please.” Bucky sounds utterly pathetic, he knows that, but he doesn’t care. Tears fill his eyes again. “I want you to kiss me. Please, kiss me, Sir.”

The conflict is all over Steve’s face. Bucky can almost see the two sides warring through his head. One side pulling this way, the other pulling that. Steve slips his hand under Bucky’s chin to tilt his head back just slightly. He looks deep into his eyes. And gently leans in.

As soon as Steve’s lips are against his, Bucky does whatever he can to deepen the kiss. Anything at all. He presses firmer. Opens his mouth to invite Steve’s tongue. Wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. 

“Bucky--” 

“Steve, please.” Bucky doesn’t stop kissing. “I need you. I have to make you come, Sir.” He climbs over Steve’s lap. “I can. I swear.”

“I know you can,” Steve whispers. 

Steve allows him to be on his lap. They kiss like that. Sunshine gushes down Bucky's throat, warming and lighting and sparking all of him to life. How was Bucky ever alive before this? No one's ever touched him like this. Held him like this. _Kissed_ him like this. As though he's the only thing in the world that matters. Steve kisses him like kissing Bucky will save their lives.

But then Steve starts to back away. He can't. He just can't. Bucky tries to latch onto him, knotting his fingers through his hair and pulling him in again. 

“Please, Sir,” Bucky says again. “Don’t let me leave you unsatisfied.”

“You won’t.” Steve stills him. Takes him by the hips and lays him down. “I don’t want this night to end. But it doesn’t have to end like this.” He swipes some stray hairs away from Bucky's face and kisses his forehead. "I wanted you, Bucky, don't think I didn't. I was gonna use that perfect body of yours until you couldn't stand it anymore." Oh, if he doesn't stop talking like that, Bucky might actually pounce. "But that doesn't mean I _need_ it, Bucky. I'll leave here just as satisfied if we just lay here together."

Bucky makes a face at him. " _Just_ as satisfied? I believe you're underestimating how good I can suck cock, Sir."

"Oh. Well..." Steve closes his eyes and laughs. "You know what I mean. Yes, I'd love very much for my dick to be in that smart ass mouth of yours. But I also like very much when you're talking to me."

Bucky stares up at him. Every battle he’s ever fought in his head rages through him now. He wants to scream. Scream for Steve to just fuck him like other Doms so he can go home with no expectations. But he also wants to beg. Beg Steve to treat him the way he knows he deserves to be treated. For Steve to be the one to do that. He just… he wants Steve. Love at first sight. Bucky would laugh if he could.

“I don’t…” Bucky shouldn’t be saying this, but the words just happen. “I don’t want it to end either.”

The smile that puts on Steve’s face warms Bucky to his very core. Steve tucks them both under the blanket of the bed and pulls Bucky into his arms. He holds him close and presses kisses to wherever he can. His neck and cheeks and nose and lips. Makes Bucky giggle, there with Steve, tucked into his chest feeling safe and cherished. Right where Bucky wants to be. 

When Bucky wakes again there’s light streaming through the room. Morning. Already. The door will open soon and Bucky will be escorted out and given last night’s check and that’ll be it. He’ll never see the man whose arms he’s woken up in. Never hear the voice he fell asleep listening to. 

They talked all night long. Until they couldn’t keep their eyes open. 

They talked about past contracts. 

_A few. Not very many, but they were good relationships. Longest was with another Dom actually, but it didn’t work. Like she said: Right chemistry, wrong biology. She’s married now. To a great man. And she’s got a lovely little sub, too._

_Too many. I’ve lost count. I followed the first loser Dom from my home in Indiana when I was 17. I was too ashamed to go home and just ended up staying here. I was homeless for a year before I met the guy who took me in. I still carry all my favorite things will me all the time. Just in case._

They talked about family.

_My mama raised me by herself. She was the most amazing woman I ever knew. She died three years ago. Breast cancer._

_Never knew mine. She died when I was just a baby. Dad split when I was eleven. Got a sister. Irish twin. Grandma worked her ass off to take care of us._

They talked about work.

_Joined the force after the army. I've always wanted to make a difference in the world. I... yes, I know, but _I'm_ trying._

_Just a shitty bartender at a shitty bar. And then here when I'm in between contracts._

They talked about friends.

_My partner -- not that kind of partner the… you know what I mean, don’t be a smart ass. Best friend in the whole world. Great guy. You’d love him._

_Doubt it. My friends are the best. One’s got a great family. He and the missus are standard. The other is a Dom. She’s married and works in D.C. Wife is a switch._

They talks about deep, personal secrets.

_Everyone picked on me. I was scared, but I needed to fight back anyway. No matter how bad it got, I stood back up and fought. All I ever wanted to do was help people. I’m so scared that I'll wake up one day and be that sick little boy again._

_It was an accident. I was fifteen. I cut school to go skating on this pond behind my friend’s house. I fell into the ice. I'm lucky this was the worst of it._

_I thought about being an artist. I still do sometimes. I have so many drawing and paintings that I'm too afraid to show anyone._

_I was declared gifted when I was seven. I graduated high school when I was fourteen. My second Dom said an educated sub was a waste. I stopped going to school after that._

_I really did. Up until I was, like, sixteen, I thought the fireworks were for my birthday. My mama told me they were!_

_I'm serious! I swear to you, we contacted Elvis. Who_ wouldn't _want to contact Elvis?_

They talked and talked and talked until Steve’s voice became a mix of this world and the dream world.

And now, Bucky is awake. Steve is asleep. Their time together is over. Bucky has the urge to take a peek under the mask. Just one. Another thing that's never happened before, but, with Steve, Bucky should be getting used to that, even if they've only spent a few hours together. Maybe they should sing a falling-in-love song. That'll tie the knot for them. Bucky all but rolls his eyes at himself. 

But… He wants to know what Steve looks like. The ache curls around his fingers. It wouldn't be right though, and he knows it. Besides, Steve look so peaceful. Asleep in just a plain t-shirt and boxers -- it took a lot of convincing on Bucky's end to get him to shed his suit to be comfortable, and just because Steve claimed he didn't want to let go of him. Bucky brushes his fingers through the golden locks of Steve's hair. Watching them fall back across his forehead one by one, everything returning to its natural place and order, Bucky's overcome with the urge to lean in and kiss him. Better than lifting the mask. One peck won't do any harm, he bets.

Steve's skin is so soft under Bucky's lips. He shifts a little when Bucky kisses his temple. Sniffles and mutters something incoherent. This man is utterly adorable. The very reason Bucky went over to him. For that safe, wholesome look. Steve might look as wholesome as apple pie, but he's got some bittersweet apples under that dough. And Bucky likes them apples.

"I wish I could be yours," Bucky whispers. "I wish you could keep me." 

The door opens.

Bucky sighs. 

“Come on, sub," the escort sent to get him grunts, "let’s go.”

Bucky gets out of the bed, lets the blanket fall to the pile on the floor, and walks to the door. The escort there takes the collar Steve gave him off -- rough and fast -- and just tosses it back on the bed. It hurts to watch. It never did before, but it does today.

Right before they leave, Bucky glances back and takes one last look at Steve to do whatever he can to commit the one Dom he can never have to memory. 

 

"Good mornin', slut. Long time, no see."

Bucky holds in a huff at the man behind the payroll desk. He's too tired and too emotional and too confused by being too emotional to get into it with Brock Rumlow this morning. Plus, he hasn't had any coffee. Which just _adds_ to the crankiness.

"Hello, Rumlow," Bucky simply greets, trying to hold back the fact that all these weeks without seeing him have been perfectly pleasant. "How're you?"

"Can't complain," he says as he works. "My own little slut is as slutty as ever." 

Fuck, this man has _no_ tact. Bucky just wants to get his check and get out of here. His own bed will probably feel too big and empty now that he doesn't have Steve to sleep with, but such is life. That's the deal here. That's how it's _supposed_ to work. The sooner Bucky gets this guy out of his head, the better.

"So," Rumlow announces as he prints out Bucky's check. "That's one normal night's pay, plus a collaring. Not a bad haul, huh, slut?"

Stomach turning, Bucky would love nothing more than to punch this guy in the nose. Any Dom who thinks he can just go up to any sub and talk to them this way deserves to be punched in the face. Bucky wonders what Steve would think of him. 

"Yeah," he answers without commenting on Rumlow's vulgar choice of manner. "Pretty good."

"I know you'd be back," he remarks as he stamps The Armory's sigil into the check. "Only a matter of time with you. What was this one? Two months?"

Twice that, but thanks, fucker.

"I'm just here to cash out, Rumlow."

"Right, right." He hands Bucky his check, but right before Bucky can take it, Rumlow yanks it back. "Course, y'know..." Oh, no. "I'm having a private party next weekend." Bucky's heart leaps to his throat. "Interested?"

That's something Bucky would normally jump at the chance to do. Private parties, even Rumlow's pay great. A night just like this, but very, very illegal. Rumlow gets away with it easily. Being friends with the police commissioner probably comes in handy. Funny how life works sometimes. One minute it's handing out the most amazing Dom Bucky's ever underestimated, the next, he's being offered to come sub at a private party. Hilarious. Too bad Bucky doesn't get the punchline.

"Y'know, um." Bucky clears his throat. "I dunno. I don't think... I can make it." He thinks of Steve up in the bedroom with sunbeams blanketing over him. "I'm not sure that's really something I'm gonna be doing anymore."

He's holding his hand out. Waiting for his check. Only Rumlow is just staring at him. Eyes narrowed. Until his lips purse into a cruel, Dominant sneer and he finally hands the check over with a repugnant snigger.

"Well, you just think on it," he says. "And then _see_ if you change your mind."

***

"Bucky--"

"I know."

"I didn't even say anything yet."

Bucky sighs as he pulls on a pair of jeans and tugs a t-shirt over his head. The locked, steel bracelet around his wrist is still something he's getting used to. He'd never planned on registering as a submissive. Now he has. Now it's out there for the world to see. Protection and rights is what the damn thing is supposed to give him, but, so far, it's just been a headache. And a hassle. So much paperwork and phone calls and just getting used to the damn thing. To be fair, it's not the bracelet's fault. That part's just the outward symbol. He'd _like_ to get all that comes with it without _having_ to wear it, but... well, he's fighting to get there.

"I know," he answers Clint as he steps back out of the bathroom. "But I know what you're gonna say."

Scoffing, Clint snatches up the darts off of Bucky's desks and rolls on of them between his fingers before standing and walking further away from the target on the other end of the bedroom.

"Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants," he mocks. "And just _what_ do you think I was gonna say?"

The dart he tosses almost aimlessly makes it right into the nose of the man's face taped on the dartboard. Bucky's last Dom. It's probably juvenile and cliche, but it makes Bucky feel better. 

"Probably that I should leave the bar or something."

Lips twisting, Clint doesn't say anything until he throws the next dart. This one lands right next to the other.

"Or something," he grumbles. "It's been three _months_ , Buck!" 

The last dart is thrown without him even looking since he's too busy spreading his arms out at Bucky to emphasize the length of time it's been since all these damn raids started. As if Bucky needs reminding. As if he hasn't already been hyper aware of how much time has gone by since that night at the Armory. He's got more than one reason to remember it. 

Reason one, because Brock Rumlow took his rejection as a personal offense and is now using his connections to the police as a means of getting back at him. The more raids, the less customers. The less customers, the less hours. The less hours, the less money. The less money, the more likely Bucky'll come to his senses and realizes he's just a poor, helpless sub he can't take care of himself in any way and should just do whatever Rumlow says. Fuck that.

"No. I'm not going anywhere. He's not gonna run me out. I don't care how many time he knocks me down, I'm getting back up and fighting."

Which brings him to reason two. The freaking Dom he simply _cannot_ get off his mind. Steve is all he can think about. Day and night. Every time the door to the bar opens, Bucky looks to see if it's him. Anytime he sees a cop car drive by, he tries to sneak a peek. It's beyond pitiful.

Bucky keeps trying to tell himself that Steve is no different than the rest of them. The whole night was just an act. A facade to prop up a Dominant's needs and ego, and for Bucky to get some of his own desires met while making a bit of extra money. No reason for him to go into some sort of state of shock just because he happened to spend the night with a really great guy. It's not the first time and it hopefully won't be the last. 

"Hello? Earth to Bucky!"

A hand waves in front of his face. Bucky blinks and jerks away before realizing it's only Clint fucking around. Snorting, Bucky pushes him back so he can attempt to continue getting ready for work. Maybe a few hours and he can get some tips anyway. 

"You were thinking about that Dom again, weren't you?"

"Ugh, Barton, why is it that you play dumb when it comes to laundry, but you're sharp as a tack when no one wants you to notice something?"

"Mad skills, bro," Clint says. "Mad skills. That's what you kids are calling 'em, right? Gots to keep up with the linguistics to bond with my offspring."

A facepalm wouldn't even be enough for this moment, so Bucky just dumps himself onto his bed since it doesn't look like Clint will be leaving anytime soon. He sighs and then picks his head up to find a dog's snout in his face.

"Oof, Lucky, get outta here." He pushes Clint's dog away -- why the dog is in Bucky's place is beyond him -- and then looks back at Clint. Whose got his chin in his palm like he's anxiously awaiting some wonderful gossip to be shared. "First of all, don't ever say that again. Your kids'll kill you."

Clint grins. "Noted."

"And... yeah. I am. Or was. I _always_ am."

Stupid Steve and his stupid... everything. Who the hell is he to just barge into Bucky's life and heave it into all this chaos. All Bucky was trying to do that night was make a little money like he always does, _not_ find some guy to get Bucky tripping over things in the middle of the day because he's not paying attention to where he's walking since he's too busy thinking about him. Steve. Those eyes that make Bucky's heart glow when just thinking about them staring down at him all lit up with approval. That voice coating him in just the right kind of dominance and then soothing him with praise and comfort. 

"Bucky..."

"I know!" He heaves off the bed and starts pacing around the room. "I know, Clint, i _know_. He was just so... _different_." Bucky doesn't need to look at his friend to know the look he's probably giving him. "And I know I've said that a hundred times before, but this one was..." He grunts and wishes there was just some way he could describe it. "I dunno."

Patting the mattress, Clint tells him to come back over and sit down. When Bucky does, Clint gently guides him down so that his head is resting in his lap. Not completely out of the blue. Clint isn't a Dom, but he's comforted Bucky before. 

"Listen, Bucky, I know you have needs that I don't understand." He gently pets a hand over his hair. Bucky eases into the petting. "But I worry about you. Tasha worries about you. Laura worries about you. Sharon worries about you."

"Guess I'm a hot topic around here." Clint flicks his ear. Bucky smiles. "I can take care of myself."

"I know that. _We_ know that. It's not _you_ we're worried about, Bucky. It's them."

Too many emotions gather in Bucky's chest. He hasn't had a good release since that night with Steve. Not only has he been avoiding the Armory to keep from seeing Rumlow, he hasn't scened with anyone either. It's his own cold turkey way of getting off Bad Doms. If Bucky doesn't hook up with anyone, he can't get mixed up in another bad contract. There's only one problem with that. Bucky's never gone this long without at least a gentle scene. Now it's three months with no end in sight if he keeps it up. 

"I just..." Bucky holds back the tears. "I just wanna be good for someone."

Still resting in Clint's lap, Bucky smothers his face against the top of his legs as Clint goes on running his fingers through his hair. 

"Bucky," he murmurs. "You _are_ a good boy."

Bucky's breath hitches. Without thinking, he reaches down to wrap a hand around Clint's ankle. Just for that physical connection. He needs it. Sure, Clint is going on what he's seen and heard rather than instinct, but that was something Bucky really needed.

"Oh," Bucky breathes. He counts his breaths for a few minutes. In and out. In... and out... And then finally feels stable enough to sit up. "Thanks, Clint."

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, Clint grins. "S'what I'm here for."

"I... I gotta finish getting ready for work."

This time, Clint gets up to leave. Tells Bucky to be careful and to call if anything happens. Bucky tells him it'll be fine. It's been three weeks since the last raid. Maybe Rumlow's finally just given up and moved on to something else. 

Once again, Bucky just doesn't understand the jokes that life seems to enjoy handing out. 

The holding cell in the station is full. All subs, of course. From the raid on the bar tonight and probably others on the block. A few of the younger kids are crying. They’ve never been through this before. Normally, Bucky would be there to comfort them and teach them how to get through it, but he’s currently preoccupied with trying to figure out which cops are on duty tonight. Plus, a few others are already taking care of the younger subs anyway. 

There’re red marks on Bucky’s wrists where the cuffs dug in. Damn asshole didn’t hold back at all. Bucky might even have a bruise on his side from where he punched him, but he’ll have to worry about that later. 

Right now, his biggest concern is the cops here. Most of the cops in the precinct he knows. Bucky knows them because they’re dirty Doms who took a career that gave them the opportunity to have power over anyone and now take bribes from subs. Make the right bribe and between Bucky and a few others locked in here, they can all be out in a few hours. 

Unfortunately, when the cop in charge of this round up comes walking towards the cell, Bucky’s shoulders drop. He doesn’t know this one.

In fact, he’s never even seen him before. Tall, black, slightly gap-toothed. Pleasant looking even. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s here to lock them up for nothing more than being subs and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Only when he reaches the cell and looks inside, sees that both benches are filled with people, he sighs. 

“Hey, Cap!” he calls back down the hall, and, for fuck’s sakes, do they really need to get the captain of this place involved? “You might wanna see this.” 

Right. To complain about more paperwork, probably. Bucky would apologize for causing so much work, but it’s not _their_ fault that the cops brought them in. Also, he’s not sorry. 

“Yeah? What is it, Sam?”

A strange shiver slithers down Bucky’s spine. He’s not really sure why. 

“Just come here, Rogers. You need to see this.” 

Another cop is coming. Bucky can hear their shoes clacking off the walls. He hates that noise. 

“What’s up?” Officer Rogers, he assumes, asks as he gets closer. “What’s going on?”

That shiver spreads to the rest of Bucky’s body. His eyes go wide. That voice. He knows it. He could never forget it. 

Backing away from the bars, Bucky turns and hides in the small space open on one of the two wooden benches. He pulls his hat down as much as it will go just as Steve gets to the cell. Glands swelling in his throat, Bucky’s heart slams against his ribs as he pulls the sleeve of his shirt over his left hand. There’s no other way Steve would recognize him. Not as long as he keeps his head down and mouth shut. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he hears Steve curse. It almost sounds wrong coming from him. “What the hell is this?”

“Sub raid,” Sam tells him. “They were brought it about an hour ago.” 

As tempting as it is to fully turn around, all Bucky permits is a quick peek from within the safe shadows of his hat. He already knows it’s Steve, that’s a fact. Bucky just wants to… to _see_ him. The only face that haunts his memories of a night he’ll never relive is tainted with a mask. A beautiful mask, sure, but… 

Holy _fuck_ Steve’s prettier than any mask could ever be. Bucky almost slips and looks all the way, but catches himself right before he does. Such a shame Steve covered his face that night. Even though Steve’s not looking at him -- or even into the cell anymore, he’s going over something clipped to the board Sam’s holding -- Bucky can still see the glistening shine to his eyes. The sunlight twinkling off the ocean blue.

Then, as Bucky’s eyes begin to roam down, his mouth goes completely dry. Steve is in uniform. Of _course_ he’s in uniform. He’s on the job. Not that it matters, this is a perfectly ridiculous thing to be thinking of right now. Bucky’s sitting in jail and all that’s running through his mind is how hot his jailer looks. And how much he wants Steve to pin him down in this cell right now in front of everyone and claim him and own him and make him _his_. Nothing fucked up about that at all. 

“No way Fury authorized this,” Steve says. “Any idea who did?”

“None. Not right now. Maria’s already lookin’ into it.” Sam rests an arm against the cell door. “What’d we do?”

“Cut ‘em loose,” Steve answers. “This is completely unjust and unlawful and--”

“And messed up,” Sam finishes for him. “You can just come out and say it, Steve. No one’s gonna yell at you.” 

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, yeah. You got this? I’ll start the paperwork?”

Sam agrees to that -- wholeheartedly, which makes Bucky wonder if maybe Steve just took a whole load of work off of his partner’s shoulders -- and then explains how this is gonna work. Kind and gentle. The way a teacher might rather than someone who doesn’t give a shit and is just trying to get this done. 

One person at a time. A name will be called, they’ll let them out to the front to collect their belongings and then they’re free to go. 

“And while we can’t speak for all our fellow officers,” Sam finishes with. “I can personally say that Officers Rogers, Hill, Fury, and myself are deeply sorry. We’ll be working this neighborhood to see this doesn’t happen as often. Hopefully, we can make some sort of difference.” 

 

Right. Bucky holds back a scoff, but the roll of his eyes comes freely. Even if these four _whole_ cops intend on staying straight and making some attempt at running these streets with some sense of justice and honor, it won’t last. It’ll only be a matter of time before they’re just as dirty as the rest of them. 

While Bucky doesn’t know this Hill and Fury being mentioned, he can just picture it happening. The kindness in Sam’s voice slowly fading and being replaced by the same cruel, harsh mockery that the rest of them around here use. Instead of the gentle way he guides the younger subs to where they need to go like he does now, he’ll just jerk his finger or shove them in that direction. 

Then there’s Steve. That big heart of his slowly rotting away. Turning to ash behind his chest that tried so hard to keep it safe and protected. All those things he said about cherishing a sub, and submission is a gift, and thinking that having a slave is something beautiful rather than lucky -- things Bucky’s trying so hard to convince himself he didn’t _really_ believe -- will all crumble away. 

The thought of Steve losing that… _whatever_ it was that drew Bucky in that night and had him spilling his heart and made him want to stay in those arms forever… well. It hurts just thinking about it. Steve is meant for the warm sunlit days of summertime laughter. He’s the cool wind rolling through the blazing trees of autumn and the cozy crackles of winter fires and the first colors of springtime flowers. He shouldn’t be mixed in with the dark and cold storms of night. 

“Barnes?”

Bucky snaps his head up at the sound of his name. Without thinking. Doesn’t matter all that much since it’s still only Sam there and, still, Steve’s not gonna recognize him anyway. That’s if the guy even remembers him as anything other than some random sub he met at The Armory the first time he went. If that even was really his first time. 

For all Bucky knows, everything Steve told him was a lie. To be honest, none of it feels that way. Not in Bucky’s gut, but then, his gut has tricked him once or twice in the past anyway. 

“Are you James Barnes?” Sam asks when Bucky continues to do nothing but look up at him. “James Buchanan Barnes?” 

Bucky’s eyes go wide at the mention of his middle name. If Steve’s nearby and hears… 

“Sir,” Sam says even though Bucky’s a sub and he’s _never_ been called sir by anyone in a position of authority in his entire life. “Have you taken any illegal substances tonight?”

Crap. Last thing Bucky needs is any attention drawn to him and sitting here in a daze is _not_ helping with that. 

“No,” Bucky whispers. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m a little rattled.”

Sam looks back down at the file in his hand, presumably Bucky’s, and flicks his eyebrows up. There’s a little twitch to his lips. Like he wants to smile but knows he shouldn’t. 

“With a record like this?” he asks. “A little raid has you shaken?” Sam is opening the cell door to beckon him out. “You’re sure you’re not on anything? Didn’t even have too much to drink?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky grumbles. Holds his hand out for the paperwork he knows he’ll be handed. “Can I go?”

“Mhm.” There’s a thick layer of sarcasm coating that permission as Sam hands him the paper to bring to the front of the station to finalize his release for the night. But just before he goes, Sam murmurs, “Fight the good fight.” 

Bucky’s already taken a few steps down the hall, but the second he hears that he freezes. That’s a submissive’s rights phrase. Still pretty underground so it hasn’t been taken and twisted by traditionalist and asshole Doms to mean something it shouldn’t. At least, Bucky has no reason to think it has. 

He glances over his shoulder. Sam’s scribbling something down in the file he’s working on, probably filling out the next person’s paper, when he catches Bucky. Sure enough, he gives him a warm smile and a wink before going back to doing what he was doing. 

Okay, so, maybe he really means what he says about wanting to make a difference around here. Maybe he and Steve and the two others he mentioned really will at least give it their best shot. That alone is worth something. It’s more than most people give in places like these nowadays. 

Paperwork in hand, Bucky goes to the front of the station where he needs to wait a few minutes to be processed. He sighs a leans against a wooden pillar and glances around. 

The late hour means there’s not too many people in here. Working, that is. Just a few unlucky cops that got stuck with the shitty shift. There’s a ton of coffee pots on the other side of the room that Bucky would love to take a cup from, but he stays right where he is. Probably shitty coffee anyway. He’ll hit a Starbucks on the way home. 

“Hey, Maria?”

Bucky hears his own breath catch when Steve calls for the cop processing everyone out. 

“Yeah?”

Ducking his head back down again, Bucky doesn’t catch what it is that Steve’s come over to her for. She does something for him on a StarkPad and he smiles and thanks her and he’s walking away when she calls the next person.

“Barnes,” she says, waving her fingers for him to step forward. “James Buchanan. Submissive number 32557038.”

Bucky can’t help it. His eyes flick to Steve. Sure enough, he stops and tenses. Bucky hurries to Maria. To get this over with and get the hell out of here before Steve starts putting two and two together. 

“Yes,” Bucky says. A fast, out of breath word that rushes out of his mouth. “That’s me.”

He wants to keep an eye on Steve. Make sure he’s not about to come charging over here, but to do that, Bucky’ll need to turn and look at him. Turning and looking at him will suggest that there’s something between them. All Bucky can do is peek over there out of the corner of his eyes. Steve is still standing there. Just… staring at him as Maria takes the papers from him. 

“All right, let’s see.” Maria turns around to the plastic bins behind her and Bucky needs to fight the urge to plead with her to hurry even though it doesn’t take her all that long. “We’ve got one backpack, black.” She opens it. “Contains four marble notebooks, nine pens -- six blue, two black, and one red -- one book copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , one book copy of _Stuart Little_ , one Bluray copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._ A pair of sweatpants, gray. A sweatshirt--”

“Bucky?”

He calls out to him softly. Curiously, even. As though Bucky’s appeared out of a figment of his imagination or deepest, wildest dreams. 

Shit. No, Steve, don’t do this. _Please_ , don’t do this. Bucky can’t. He just can’t. 

“Look, I’ve been through this a million time,” Bucky says to Maria, already starting to stuff all those things back into his backpack. “I’ve got nothing in there that any of you wanna steal. It’s just junk so I’m sure it’s all there.” 

Holding her palms out, Maria shrugs and does whatever she needs to do on her end of things. Prints something out, signs it, stamps it and hands it to Bucky. 

“Okay then,” she says. “You’re all set, Mr. Barnes.” Wow. These people are so formal around here. “Sorry again for the rude inconvenience.” 

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine. Thanks.”

Without so much as another glance in Steve’s direction or back at anyone else in the station, Bucky snatches the strap of his bag and rushes out of there. He doesn’t even get to the door before Steve is shouting for him.

“Bucky!”

He doesn’t stop. Bucky hurries for the steel doors and pushes out them so quickly it crashes into the side of the building. 

“Bucky!” Steve calls out. “Bucky, wait! Please, wait!” 

Of course, he needs to get down the front stone steps before he reaches the sidewalk and can just run. Which he does. As soon as his feet touch the sidewalk, Bucky takes off. He knows how to do this. He’s been doing it for years. Pickpocketing and shoplifting and sleight of hand tricks that have people chasing him through the streets. Civilians and cops alike. 

With Steve on his trail -- god _knows_ why -- Bucky runs. Runs from Steve. Runs from whatever he could possibly want from him. Runs from another huge failure and mistake. Bucky just runs.

He zigzags through parked cars and knocks over tin garbage cans. He tosses his bag over the fence of a back alley and climbs it himself. Snags up his backpack again and doesn’t slow any more than he needs to. 

If he can make it away from Steve -- who’s just another cop, that’s _all_ \-- then Bucky can get himself something hot to eat. Maybe a warm piece of pie. He’s only got a couple of bucks on him, but he can go to Angie’s Place. This time of night the diner staff is always kind enough to give a few handouts. A part of Bucky’s always kind of wanted to meet the owner and thank her for that. She must know. 

Thoughts of peach cobbler or cherry or Boston cream pie sing in Bucky’s head as he strains his ears for any signs of being followed. There’re no footsteps. No shouts. No heavy breathing. 

Bucky glances over his shoulder and starts to slow. No one’s there. Steve must’ve given up. Which, if Bucky’s honest, almost hurts. Stupid, that. The only pursuit he’s ever really in is a game of cat and mouse. And Bucky’s always the mouse. Steve giving up just means he got bored of this hunt. Wants something easier. Bucky should feel relieved, not hurt. 

Hands on his knees, Bucky takes a minute or two to catch his breath. He keeps his eyes on the path he came from. Makes sure that no one is coming. 

Once it’s clear that there really isn’t anyone there, Bucky grins and straightens up. Turns. And collides right into a wall of muscle that grabs him by the shoulders. 

“What the fuck?” Bucky tries to wiggle free, but can’t. “Let go’a me!”

“Are you gonna keep running?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s hit by the dominance in his voice all over again. The fight in him begins to ebb out. Instinct to obey to this Dom taking its place. “Or stay for a second?”

“I…” Bucky bites down on his lip. “How did you even get to me so fast?”

Steve, who still hasn’t loosened his grip, just shrugs. “I grew up around here. I know how to get around these streets pretty easily.” 

Daring a glance up at him, Bucky can’t help worrying there might be disappointment or anger there. Relief runs through him when there isn’t. There’s nothing but openness and worry on Steve’s face.

“Oh.” Bucky squirms again. “Can you let go now? I won’t run.”

As though needing a second to contemplate whether or not to believe him, Steve blinks and then nods even though it takes another few seconds for him to finally release him. 

“Any particular reason you ran from me?” he asks. 

Bucky scoffs. “Any particular reason you _followed_?”

“I…” Steve blushes. Hard. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and scratches the back of his head. “I just… saw you. And I recognized you, so I thought…”

“You thought what? That it’d be a good idea to chase down the professional sub you scened with _once_ at The Armory?” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Not exactly how it works, Steve. I guess I’m lucky you didn’t use your resources to try to track me down _that_ way.”

Eyes going wide, Steve’s jaw drops. The insult is written all over his face as he heaves in a rough breath. 

“I’d never do that!” he exclaims. “That’d be a _gross_ misuse of the power bestowed upon me by the City of New York not to mention all the countless _moral_ reasons. You’re a _person_ , Bucky, not some _thing_ on the internet for me to look up.” He shakes his head. “I know we don’t know each other, but I thought I at least got _that_ much about myself across to you.” 

By the time he’s finished with his little mini-rant, Steve is more out of breath than he was when he caught up with Bucky. He’s all tomato-faced, too. Jaw clenched. Like he’s seething inside but doesn’t feel the need to let any more than that out. That disappointment Bucky feared to see earlier swims through his eyes now. It’s there. Mixed in with the sudden frustration. 

“What’d’ya want, Steve?” Bucky asks, softly. “And I’m sorry if I insulted you. I didn’t… I should’t’ve said that. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.” 

He doesn’t know _how_ he knows that, but he does. Or maybe he doesn’t, Bucky’s not sure what to think anymore.

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay, Bucky.” Steve takes a step back, though that’s suddenly the last thing Bucky wants. “And I swear to you, I won’t be going back in there and looking at your file or anything. You’re just Bucky to me. I know nothing more than what you told me that night and it was just the Buchanan that caught my attention, I promise, and then I just… I _knew_ it was you, I could just tell, but I…” Steve fumbles over a few anxious filled words that don’t actually make any sense. “I shouldn’t’ve done this, I know. I shouldn't have followed you, it was wrong, I just… you were there and I did and I’m sorry, Bucky, really I am.”

Bucky needs a few seconds to let all of that to settle in. He blinks. Shakes his head. And abruptly starts laughing so hard he almost falls over. 

It’s not that he means to laugh and he’s not quite sure if he’s laughing _at_ Steve precisely it’s just… Steve really _is_ different. Either that or he’s the best actor the world’s ever seen and someone should grab an Oscar for the guy. How he can go from being Bucky’s sure and confident Dom -- able to work him into subspace and help him through subdrop and give him a more perfect night than anyone ever has -- to being this awkward, almost bumbling _cop_ of all people, is just beyond him. There’s something perfectly wonderful about it.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky gets out through more laughter. “It’s not… you…” Even though it kind of is. “I just… you…” He takes in a deep breath and tries to get himself under control. “Sorry,” he almost whimpers when he catches the stern look on Steve’s face. “Sorry, Steve.” 

But Steve can’t be all that mad since his mouth curls up in a smile despite his crossed arms and stiff shoulders. He even huffs a quiet chuckle of his own. 

“Let me try again,” Steve suggests. “Are you okay? I mean, from tonight. Not when we…”

Steve trails off. There’s no need for him to go on with that. Three months is plenty enough time to heal from a pretty standard scene, and given that was the first time Steve scened with him, and he’s an experienced and _really_ good Dom, it wasn’t nearly as intense as Bucky’s had in the past. Steve knows what he’s doing, Bucky knows that much. He wouldn’t give it his all while not knowing how well Bucky could take it. What he did with Bucky that night was probably him holding back a _lot_. 

Really, it was a lot more intense for Bucky mentally than it was physically. But then, he’s not about to admit that. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “This isn’t the first raid I’ve been through. Just ask your partner for my file. You’ll see.” 

“I don’t need to--” Steve shakes his head. “Can we start this over? I’m off in…” He checks his watch because Steve is cute enough to still wear a watch. “Uh, like, a half an hour ago, but if you just come back with me and wait ten minutes for me to finish up a bit of paperwork, we can go grab a bite to eat or something.” 

“Why would we do that?”

Every speck of brightness within Steve dulls as though he’s been kicked right in the gut. 

“O-oh.” His shoulders fall. Eyebrows pulling in, Steve drops his gaze as though every ounce of self-doubt he’s ever had just resurfaced all at once. “Um. Right. Sorry. I’ll just.” 

He fakes a cough -- maybe he’s not that good of an actor after all -- and starts to leave. Back the way he must’ve come. After watching him take the first few steps, Bucky turns to do the same. Opposite directions.

Good. This is for the best. There’s no reason for Bucky to get swept up in the idea that Steve is different. None of this is what it seems. There’s no such thing as love at first sight. Sometimes there is no prince charming and true love’s kiss doesn’t wake the sleeping royal and no one lives happily ever after. No one is going to make some sweeping declaration of love or a speech on fate and destiny or…

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you!”

 _Oh, thank god_.

Bucky turns around to see that Steve has jogged back some of the way. All that dulled is lit up again. He’s wearing a smile. Hopeful. Ready to jump in despite facing the chance of another rejection. 

“What?” Bucky asks. 

The hope trimming the corners of Steve’s smile trickles into him. Bucky would try to keep it away, but he’s powerless to stop it. Here’s Steve, the Dom he’s been unable to get out of his own mind for three months, and he’s pretty much just said the same thing. 

“I… I can’t stop thinking about you,” Steve repeats. “I know that doesn’t make any sense and that we only spent one night together, but it’s true.” He takes a few steps closer and shrugs. “I dunno why. Every time we’ve met--” Those whole _two_ times “--you’ve annoyed me right away. You’ve made assumptions about me and you’ve been rude and you ran like freakin’ hell to avoid me tonight.” 

Steve lets a dark chuckle roll from his lips. “But, Bucky, I am _terrified_ of walking away from you now and never feeling again the way I felt that night. That was _you_. Not the scene, not the place… it was _you_. I’ve waited my whole life to feel something like that with someone and I felt it with _you_ , Bucky. And I’m willing to fight for it and hold onto it with everything I’ve got if you’ll let me.”

Every ounce of Bucky’s existence is screaming yes to Steve’s declaration. He longs to leap into his arms and squeeze tight and ask Steve to never let him go. 

Every contract of his past -- from the first all the way to this last -- is screaming no. He wants to run away. Same as before. Save himself the heartache. 

Stupid, traitorous tears fill Bucky’s eyes as a wave of emotion crashes over him. He wipes at them. Last thing he wants right now is for Steve to see just how vulnerable he feels. All he’s ever wanted is someone to love him. Storybook and fairytale and magic. Bucky doesn’t need anyone else to take advantage of that. 

“I can’t…” Bucky needs to clear his throat. “What makes you any different from the rest of them, Steve? Of everyone else who I wanted to believe? Who I hoped would be _the_ one? Why should I believe you?”

That hopeful grin is still on Steve’s face. All he does is take another step and he’s in front of him now. Bucky didn’t even realize how close they’d gotten. He smiles at him and gently swipes the hair away from Bucky’s face. 

“You have no reason to believe me,” Steve says. “I’m just asking you to.” His cups his cheeks and Bucky leans into the warmth. He can’t help himself. “You’re gonna be a freakin’ handful, I have no doubt about that. But I want to fall in love with you. Because I will. I’ll fall in love with you and hold you in my heart with all that I have.”

The glands in his throat are too tight. It’s hard to breathe let alone talk. There’s an ache in his chest. Bucky can’t tell if it’s his heart trying to hide or burst free. 

“Steve.” Bucky closes his eyes. “I don’t… know what to say.”

“Then just say yes,” Steve murmurs. “Just to this. And then… you can think about your next answer after-my _god_ ,” he breathes. When Bucky glances up, Steve brushes the hair away from his face and looks at him as though seeing him for the first time. “Look at you. You’re so… you’re so _beautiful_. You’re the prettiest… the… you’re _stunning_ , Bucky. I didn’t… even…”

Oh. _Oh_. Steve really _is_ seeing him for the first time. He looks at him now like no one ever has.

Nighttime pulses around them. Wisps of shadows that slowly ease around them and condense the world to just two people standing on a city block in Brooklyn. Bucky’s heart tugs at his brain. His brain pulls back. Maybe, somehow, he can make them friends. With Steve in front of him, it’s very hard to keep them on separate terms. 

“Okay.”

Bucky can barely hear the whisper himself so it’s no wonder that Steve leans in closer like he didn’t understand.

“Wh-what?” Steve’s eyes go wide. His smile grows insanely big. He gasps. “Did you just… did you say _yes_?”

Bucky shrugs. “Technically, I said ‘okay’.” 

Narrowing a very pointed gaze at him, Steve sighs and rubs between his eyes. 

“Like I said” -- Steve shakes his head -- “a handful.” 

“Hey,” Bucky says as they start to head back to the station together. “You’re the one saying you’re gonna fall in love with me.” 

The thought singsongs its way through Bucky’s belly, bursting like a firework into a million sparkling colors. 

Steve snickers and gives Bucky a little bump with his hip. A teasing, playful push that gets him to stumble a little over his feet. Once he catches his balance, Bucky fixes his hat and adjusts the straps of his backpack, then sets a glare at Steve. One that must not be all that intimidating because all Steve does is start laughing. 

“You’re not supposed to _laugh_ ,” Bucky huffs. “I’ll have you know I’m very frightening.” 

“Yes.” Steve pats his head. “Very ferocious.” 

“Now you’re just patronizing me.” 

Steve laughs and nods. “Yes. I am.”

Eyes flicking up to him, Bucky holds back a smirk and tries to shake his head. He can’t quite manage the gesture though. This guy. He really is something. 

“I dunno,” Bucky sighs. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

Steve doesn’t lose any of that brightness to his smile. He even swings an arm over Bucky’s shoulders. At first Bucky gasps and tenses. But Steve doesn’t quite put his arm down. He just… lets it hover over his body, light and loose until Bucky looks up. Steve is watching him, and it only a takes a second for him to figure out why. He’s waiting for consent. For something as simple as putting his arm over his shoulders. Bucky’s heart sings when Steve pulls him in a little closer. 

“Hm. I dunno.” Steve says. Presses his lips to the top of Bucky’s head but doesn’t quite kiss any more than that. “I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.”

A smile pulls up on Bucky’s lips. Big and wide, and he hides it in the folds of Steve’s shirt though he can hardly see it anyway. Steve smells amazing. Feels so warm. 

"Steve?" Bucky says quietly as they walk. "Sir?"

The Sir gets Steve to stumble over his footing. Bucky can almost _hear_ his pulse pick up. "Yeah?"

"Can I have another kiss?"

Steve pulls up short. At the same time, Bucky peers up at him through long, flirty lashes. If this is gonna happen, then it might as well happen right. Besides, it's worth it to see Steve turn all red and fumble with a few words again.

"I... I'm... still on the clock," is his answer. 

"Well, then." Bucky slides his hands up Steve's chest. "I guess you'll just have to punish me later."

Steve groans a laugh through clenched teeth and gently takes hold of Bucky's face to tilt his head back. He's smiling at him, open and excited, and that spark of pure dominance dances wildly in his eyes. 

"Such a handful." 

He chuckles before slamming their lips together and reminding Bucky what it felt like to really be alive. The air is hot. Electric. Buzzing around them and bring something new to life. For the first time in a long time, Bucky, his heart, and his brain all agree with the same thing. Steve is right. One way or another, he’s right.

Something beautiful is about to happen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

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> The amazing, wonderful art that inspired this. I can't even believe the talent here and just how pretty this is! Kudos to my lovely artist!


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